


The Battle Ajah

by AJ_Stevens



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Aes Sedai, Original Character(s), Post-Breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Stevens/pseuds/AJ_Stevens
Summary: The world is broken. As humanity crawls from the wreckage of the ruinous devastation unleashed by the insanity of the male Aes Sedai, the Shadow's forces grow once more. Who will lead the men and women of the new Age into a new fight?





	1. A Foul Wind

CHAPTER 1 - A FOUL WIND

 

_The Year 47AB (After Breaking)_

 

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, and Age long past, a wind rose in the valley of Thakan'dar. The wind was not the beginning, there are neither Beginnings nor endings to the turning of The Wheel of Time. But it was  _a_  beginning.

 

The wind swept south into the desolate wasteland which had come to be known as the Blasted Lands. It gusted around a band of Trollocs who named themselves the Ahf'rait. Savage grunts died in the air as the gale flattened matted furs and feathers against angular animal skulls. Knowing, human-like eyes followed the rustling of what vegetation remained in this blighted landscape and dark, angry blades waved in celebration of the foul draught. The wind rose and fell with the contours a twice ravaged land; once during the War of Power, and again during the Breaking of the world. It finally burst forth from a valley dank with decay, belching its sickly stench southward.

 

Berta Trencine stood her horse at the edge of a stand of trees, evergreen interspersed with beech. The latter would hold their leaves only a short while longer; autumn was fleeting this far north. Sharp blue eyes surveyed the array of rudimentary wagons at the centre of the clearing. The Aiel held no love for her and her sisters of the _ajah_ , but her vow to protect and fight against the forces of the Shadow extended to sheltering the people along the Blightborder, regardless of whether that shelter was asked for.

 

The wind rose and her horse stamped its hooves, eyes rolling. Berta's gaze whipped northward, her face twisting with revulsion at the wrongness on the wind. The trees around her groaned as if in pain as the wind rattled their leaves and branches. She spat, feeling a sudden urge to bathe.

 

An Aielman appeared from behind a tree two paces away, his steps making nary a sound on the soft carpet of mulched leaves. His jacket and breeches of grey and brown blended into the surrounding landscape and a black veil covered his face, leaving only his grey eyes and his red hair visible. He removed the veil and scratched at his neck as if trying to remove some unseen sickly residue.

 

'I see you, Berta Trencine. Well met,' the Aielman said. As ever, the clan chief managed to dance the line between hospitality and disapproval.

 

'I see you, Gragga Halmdon,' she replied, completing the odd formalities of the Aiel. She clambered from her horse and knuckled the small of her aching back.

 

'Two such winds in as many moons,' the clan chief continued, staring to the north. 'These are ill times. But let them not dampen our souls, for we still have breath in our lungs. Come, our wagons are yours.'

 

She smiled her acceptance and they began the walk across the clearing. 'What news, clan chief? How fare you in your efforts to stem the advance of the Blight?' She glanced north once more. Half a league in that direction the forest underwent a subtle shift, from the golden and ochre hues of autumn to the sickly brown of death and decay. A sickness of the land whose inexorable creep would one day plague the vibrant clearing where they now stood.

 

As ever, his mouth tightened at the question. 'Not well, Berta Trencine. The Power of our Song wanes still, but we offer what we have to the land.' He gave her a sidelong look, and his face twisted further with distaste. 'We have seen nothing of your Trollocs or your Myrddraal. Nothing but tracks,' he added.

 

She sighed, knowing the answer, but she was obliged to try. 'Once again, clan chief, I offer you the protection of my sisters and me. The _ajah...'_

 

'Is besieged by the violence it delivers unto others,' he cut in. 'We have no weapons but we know how to tread with care in this new world, Berta Trencine. I would implore you to do the same before it is truly too late.'

 

Regarding him with a cool stare, she merely nodded. Once, when fire blazed in her veins, she had become heated in advocating the use of the One Power to fight the Shadow. The fire remained, but she had learned to direct it where it was most needed, and Gragga Halmdon did not deserve her fury. He could not be blamed for his attempt to extend his own vision of protection. He could not truly know how it was already too late, at least for her.

 

'Has there been any casualties, clan chief?' She knew she wouldn't get the full answer from the man. He had always been tight-lipped on the matter, but Berta had managed to piece together a suspicion from what little he revealed. It was an oddity she couldn't explain, but if her guess was correct, the Trollocs were gathering up the Aiel and taking them north, rather than the indiscriminate slaughter she had come to expect.

 

He shook his head as they entered the ring of wagons. Most bore signs of heavy repair, and the Aiel would only use wood which had fallen to the ground. 'Only tracks, Berta Trencine.' His tone was firm; he would take no further questions on the matter. 'Alas, Norril Pahldem is Afflicted. I do not know if he will recover. Way may return him to the land this very night, I fear.'

 

'Take me to him,' Berta hissed.

 

The clan chief turned to regard her. 'Very well, but I will not permit you to mend him with your One Power. The Pattern, not Berta Trencine, will decide Norril Pahldem's fate.'

 

Berta knelt next to the Aielman, Norril Pahldem, neither permitted nor eager to touch his clammy, hoary visage. The Affliction had taken him three days past and now each breath came with a rattling wheeze. His eyes were sunken and closed; underneath his clothes, Berta knew she would find joints swollen and purple. The Blighted land was anathema to humans; the Aiel wore their protective veils to guard against such things, but what lay before Berta was all too common. A touch from a dead or dying leaf or branch and the rot took hold, eating a person from the inside until only a husk remained. There were many terrible ways to die in this world, but Berta considered the Affliction to be the worst of them. She didn't know of a single Aiel who had survived the ordeal, but they apparently lived in hope that their Green Man, the storied Someshta, would come to their aid in the hour of their greatest need.

 

The Affliction was not a simple thing to Heal when it was so far along, but not beyond her talent. The Aiel had been quite clear; Norril was in the palm of the Creator. He would live, or he would not.

 

She hissed her frustration at the Aiel's fatalism, their mistrust of the One Power. Without her intervention, it was clear to her that Norril would indeed be returned to the land, and soon.

 

'You must allow me to heal him, clan chief. This man can be saved.' She looked up at the tall, lean clan chief, and regretted her outburst. Some of the clan had gathered to witness the exchange. Even if they believed as fervently as he did, she nonetheless saw what it cost him to voice what was effectively a death sentence upon one of his clan.

 

'I do not permit it, Berta Trencine. Your One Power cannot be trusted.'

 

She bowed her head and sighed. She'd explained to him many times that it was _saidin_ , the male half of the True Source, which was corrupted and corrupting, that it was the male channellers who were doomed to go insane. His retort was always the same. The One Power had broken the world, delivered untold trauma to a land they held dear.

 

She considered Healing the stricken Aielman against the wishes of Gragga and his clan. They would not - could not - intervene, but after being denied permission, it would be a dire contravention of propriety she wasn't sure she could bear.

 

'Very well. I thank you for the shelter of your wagons, Gragga Halmdon. I believe it is time for me to bid you farewell.'

 

There was no escape from Aiel formality, and so Gragga escorted Berta back across the clearing. It had been the most fleeting of visits, which filled her with regret, but she felt unable to dampen her frustration and she refused to lash out at these people.

 

They arrived back at the treeline and the clan chief bowed to her. 'Fare you well, Berta Trencine. Light guide your steps.'

 

She proffered a tight smile. 'Your people once Sang with the Aes Sedai, clan chief. The Song and the One Power worked in harmony. I would that it was so once more.'

 

'The One Power is changed, no longer pure. The Aes Sedai, well, you know all about that.'

 

There was no malice in his words; he was merely stating the facts as he saw them. The notion of being impure stabbed at her however, even if she knew it wasn't true.

 

'Fare you well, clan chief.' She would grow old standing there trying to make the man see sense and sun was sliding towards the treeline to the west.

 

She rode back towards the outpost in contemplative silence. She believed in the One Power, in its use in the fight against the Shadow, but there was no denying the collateral damage caused by that fight. This close to the Blightborder, the people accepted an uneasy alliance with those who wielded _saidar_ , though it had taken an appalling toll on the Trollocs' ranks for the _ajah_ to prove their worth. The One Power broke the world as far as they were concerned. The most reasonable of folk regarded them as though they might go insane and level towns and villages at a moment's notice. The less reasonable of folk often confronted them with outright hostility. Berta had heard that in the south, to name oneself Aes Sedai carried a death sentence. In the north, there was an understanding that there was no reason to further antagonise an already distrusting public. For now, the _ajah_ had been granted the right to defend the town of Palardell and its surrounds. For Berta and her nineteen sisters, it was the ideal location to repel Trollocs and worse back into the Blight.

 

The appearance of tracks in the forest was cause for concern. The forces of the Shadow grew bolder; that they were able to slip through the protective net cast by the _ajah_ was disconcerting. If the Shadow managed to organise itself into a cohesive fighting force, it would be all they could do to keep the dark tide at bay.

 

She rode through the forest, shafts of tepid sunlight slanting through the ochre canopy causing dappled light to dance across a leaf-strewn undergrowth. A familiar calm settled upon her and she breathed deeply. She had found her place in this new world. She would fight, and she would be content.


	2. The Garrison

CHAPTER 2 - THE GARRISON

 

Berta sighed as she rode back into the garrison that perhaps now deserved to be called a small village. It had an air of permanency; the boarded walkways had evolved into dirt-packed streets. Tents had become wooden buildings, and there was talk of mining local stone to reinforce the wooden perimeter wall. She passed through a gap in the wall, nodding to the two militiamen on watch.

 

The village folk were wrapped in their furs and skins. She could ignore the cold through a trick of concentration the sisters had shared with her, but autumn nights were cold this far north and the sun had dipped below the horizon an hour past. After tying her horse at the corral, she stomped through the mud to the wooden hut she shared with Lya Pamentos. A familiar smirk played across Lya's olive-skinned face, one which touched her eyes more than it touched her lips. 'You've been thinking.' The heavy southern accent rolled off the woman's tongue as she looked over the top of a sheaf of papers.

 

Berta kicked off her muddy boots and draped her riding cloak over a hook on the wall. 'Nothing you haven't heard before. Is the tea fresh?'

 

'Tell me of it regardless.' Lya arched her back, stifling a yawn.

 

Berta went through the motions of pouring the tea, staring into the pot as she swirled the leaves around. 'The Aiel...'

 

'Ah, the Aiel,' Lya cut in, pulling her robe tighter around her. 'You always return from your visits so morose. I'm sure one of the other sisters would take that patrol.' Lya smiled and stood. The woman stalked, even indoors. It defied belief that she could be so light on her feet. Berta once again pondered exactly what Lya had been before she discovered she could channel the One Power. The woman had been tight-lipped on the topic, and Berta respected her right to privacy on the matter. They were equals within the _ajah_ , and that was all that mattered. She allowed Lya to assume tea-making duties and eased down into a chair.

 

'One of them was Afflicted,' Berta replied flatly. 'Of course, I wasn't permitted to Heal him.' She shuddered. With any mercy, the poor lad would be dead by now.

 

'Of course you weren't. Here, drink.' The earthenware cup was thrust at Berta with the same matter-of-fact air that Lya adopted in most conversations.

 

Berta hissed as she burned her tongue on the tea, and channelled a thin flow of air and water to cool the steaming liquid. Lya seemed occupied with a loose thread hanging from her robe, but Berta could swear the woman was suppressing a smile. Usually, it would have been enough to lighten her mood, but she found herself preoccupied with her thoughts. 'I'm sorry, Lya. My mind gnaws at me tonight. I'll be in my room.'

 

***

 

Berta climbed out of the valley on stinging, lacerated feet, hobbling onwards to the Light alone knew where. She had lost something, but she couldn't remember what, only that she could never find it again. The fires of vengeance burned within her, yet she knew not the reasons for such a feeling.

 

She wandered ever onwards, the pain in her feet was as nothing, as was the hunger in her gut, when set against the unknown and unknowable pain of loss which drove her blindly forwards. She would not stop, she knew, until this body failed her, or until everything in her path had been destroyed.

 

She was more than she once was, and yet less, in ways in which she did not understand. Within her was the power of destruction, yet she knew not how to call upon it, or direct it. Would she destroy herself before all else? The thought held a certain allure.

 

Had it grown colder since she began her wandering? How long had she walked? The thoughts were distant and unimportant. She only knew that her blackened feet must carry her towards _something_ and when she found it, she would have the violence she so craved.

 

The world _flickered_ and yet she stumbled on. She was in a different place, now. Colder and darker, ethereal sensations which ravaged her body, yet could not ravage her soul, for it was irretrievably broken.

 

She was close, she knew, to sweet vengeance, to a final deliverance into the soft caress of oblivion. Darkness beckoned, coalescing into indeterminate bestial forms which snarled and howled perpetual outrage. Yes, this was where she was meant to be, a place of finality.

 

She closed her eyes and sought to call upon the destructive force within her, and yet without. It eluded her clamouring grasp as she reached for its tantalising, ruinous puissance. If she could but take it within herself for just a moment, she would right a terrible wrong.

 

A face appeared before her; a woman in her middle years. The features were stern, but the eyes were grey pools of empathy and compassion. A disembodied voice chimed from behind her. 'You'll achieve nothing like that, girl. I suggest you come with me.'

 

Berta was ripped awake from her nightly torment by a loud crack, followed by a deafening rumble. Moments later screams pierced the night, wordless and desperate.

 

Â She had no time to protect herself as the hut folded around her. Something smacked into her skull and she grasped for _saidar,_ chastising herself even as it squirmed away from her. Forcing an inner calm into her mind, she allowed the female half of the One Power to fill her; submitting herself to it as a detached panic clawed at her. The flows of air formed and splintered wood erupted away from her body. She pushed herself to her feet and her hand came away from her scalp bloody; it was the least of her worries.

 

'By the Light.' A veil of sheer panic had settled upon the night. The village was... gone. Buildings, such as they were, had either collapsed or were on the verge of collapsing. The militiamen, in that moment, looked like the farmers they really were, running back and forth without purpose, torn between helping the already injured and preventing further injury.

 

Kicking her way clear of what remained of her hut, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Lya doing the same. A nod passed between them and they strode off in opposite directions to exert some measure of order among the villagers.

 

Mud churned under her bare feet as she squelched along what had once been the main thoroughfare of the village. Blood stung her eyes and she wiped it away with the back of a filthy hand. A militiaman ran past, reminding Berta of a panicked mare, the whites of his eyes bright in the moonlight. She grabbed him by the front of his tunic and despite her smaller frame, shook him like a rag doll. 'You there! Tell me what happened.'

 

The man - Torval Ganthur was his name - straightened, his demeanour caught between relief and unease. 'Berta Trencine, the ground did turn to liquid beneath us. Garrol Remwinn will tell you it was just so. Rocks the size of horses being throwed about, there was. If it ain't the male Aes Sedai come back, then it's the Dark One's own work.'

 

Berta let go of him. 'The Dark One is sealed away in Shayol Ghul. Everyone knows this. I assure you, you are quite safe from the Dark One. Gather your wits and see to your people, Torval Ganthur.'

 

She turned away and moved towards the north wall of the outpost, embracing _saidar._ While talk of male Aes Sedai was fanciful, men who could channel still appeared with some regularity. It was possible that this supposed shifting of the earth was the work of a male channeller, and she saw no reason to take any chances.

 

Chaos ruled at the north wall, like an ant nest had been kicked over. She couldn't place it amid the dark and the confusion, but _something_ was amiss. Her stomach lurched as she realised she could see the nimbus of the moon where she should only have been able to see the sheer side of the bluff which sheltered the village. It was gone. Looking closer now, she saw that the hill had sheared a quarter of the way up its height, collapsing to bury the northern edge of the village.

 

Gwendlin Uthersol had her arms outstretched just a few paces from the scree and rubble, frustrated grunts of exertion emanating from her as she worked to exhume the victims from their impromptu grave. The glow of _saidar_ surrounded five of the other women present; concentration painting their faces as they lent their power to the attempt.

 

Berta stepped closer and let the circle envelop her, adding what she could to the effort, Gwendlin's skill with earth was unsurpassed in the _ajah._ If Gwendlin couldn't shift the rocks, no other stood a chance.

 

With the extra power from Berta, the weave intensified and there was a deafening crack of rocks colliding. Gwendlin released an exasperated cry and then slumped, defeated, against two nearby militiamen. The weaving ceased, and Berta knew there was no hope for those buried.

 

Concerned, breathless faces turned to Berta and she felt the weight of command, almost flinching in the face of expectant, hopeful eyes falling upon her. Though she was merely in her fourth decade of years, the Captain-General had insisted the command of the expedition was hers. This was no time to be learning as she went.

 

'Preserve your strength, sisters. We will surely have further work to do this night. Those with some skill in Healing, attend to the injured. The rest of you, come with me. There must be a building still standing where we can convene.' Across the wreckage of the village, Berta was pleased to see that Lya, at least, was in possession of her wits, as she escorted the leaders of the militiamen in the direction of the gathered channellers.

 

None of the remaining buildings were deemed to have the requisite stability to host a meeting, and so the women found themselves kneeling in the remains of what had been the tavern. The stench of stale ale and wine ingrained into the floorboards was about the only tangible reminder of habitation. Regular use of _saidar_ schooled women in mental fortitude, to exude calm in the face of danger. Even so, the faces staring back at Berta betrayed such schooling as worry appeared through cracks in the attempts at serenity.

 

Berta forced her own face to stillness and fixed her gaze upon Zorina Dalsham, a diminutive, fox-faced woman, who was younger even than Berta. 'Go ahead, say it.'

 

Zorina had the grace to look abashed at letting the speculation from the villagers invade her thinking. 'Well, there could be merit in what the militia say.' An arched brow from Berta prompted further discourse. 'Oh, I know it isn't the work of the Dark One. He's locked up behind the seals in Shayol Ghul.' She licked her lips as though there was a sliver of doubt behind her statement. 'But it could be... it could be _saidin_.'

 

Berta gave a sharp nod. 'Zorina speaks true. It is likely that this is simply the continuing upheaval as the mountains surrounding us settle. But there is a small chance a male channeller is at large. As we have learned in these parts, we can take nothing for granted.' She hoped her voice sounded steadier than she felt. Either option was unpalatable. An aftershock from the Breaking as a torn land attempted to find balance, or a male channeller. Either way, it was hard to escape the feeling that the very earth beneath their feet was saturated with the foul slick of tainted _saidin._

 

She quashed a pang of indecision at an imperceptible nod of encouragement from Lya. 'Zorina, Lya, you will come with me to scout the surrounding area. The rest of you, help to organise the villagers. We leave for Palardell at first light; sooner if necessary.'

 

***

 

The three women had ventured out into the night with six of the militiamen who, while nervous, appeared relieved to be doing something they were at least some way capable of. They were farmers and blacksmiths and tailors in truth, but they could stalk through the night, and they could keep watch, swords at the ready.

 

The glow of _saidar_ surrounded her, Lya and Zorina. She had to remind herself on more than one occasion that the diffuse light was visible only to a select few. She felt clumsy next to Lya, who avoided with apparent ease the fallen branches and loose rocks which threatened to give the party away as Berta and Zorina mis-stepped.

 

They had gradually spiralled out from the village, putting ever more distance between themselves and safety, such as it was. Their search had turned up nothing; not a living soul had crossed their path.

 

A hiss from Lya, and the party stopped in its tracks, crouching.

 

Berta followed the direction of Lya's outstretched finger to a silhouette, barely visible against the backdrop of the trees climbing the gentle slope opposite. The shape appeared disfigured as it straightened to its full height and sniffed the air. 'Trolloc,' Lya whispered.

 

Berta tensed. Trollocs had a keen sense of smell. It was unusual to see one on its own; it was almost certain that others were nearby. The fear among the men was palpable. 'All of you hold. Running is the surest way to give ourselves away,' she whispered. She could understand their unease; while three female channellers evened the scales somewhat, a Trolloc band with the element of surprise could overrun them.

 

Berta kept her eyes trained on the part-human monstrosity, resisting a primal urge to lash out and reduce the bestial form to nothing. She was able to make out horns of some sort. Those of a ram, perhaps. 'So it's true, the Shadow extends its reach southward.'

 

'It may be that it is simply lost,' Lya offered.

 

'You may be right, but we take no chances. I hesitate to attribute this to mere coincidence. We should report back to Palardell rather than trigger an ambush in the dead of night.'

 

At that moment, the bestial head turned directly towards their location, and Berta thought she could feel those human eyes boring directly into her. A grunt carried across the still night before the Trolloc turned and galloped away with terrifying speed.

 

Zarina released a held breath that misted in the night air. 'I've never seen a Trolloc do that before.'

 

Berta pursed her lips. 'No. Most curious behaviour. It's as though...'

 

'As though it was taking orders,' Lya interrupted. She met the level gaze of her friend and saw that they'd reached the same conclusion. The only thing that gave orders to Trollocs was a Myrddraal. Myrddraal were rare enough, but almost everyone in the _ajah_ had seen enough of them to know the crippling, chilling fear incited by that eyeless gaze.

 

A Myrddraal at their backs with a contingent of the Light knew how many Trollocs, and the possibility of a rogue male channeller tossing the earth around. The militiamen had a bravery which came from safety in numbers, numbers which were too far away to offer aid if Trollocs descended upon them. Skittishness danced across their wide-eyed faces as they attempted to look in every direction at once.

 

'We make for the village by the most direct route,' Berta began. 'We're not in a Trolloc cookpot just yet.' She directed a shrug at a surprised Lya. It appeared she had work to do when it came to her gallows humour.

 

They trudged back into camp an hour before first light. It had been an uneventful passage, save for one of the more superstitious men bringing down a raven from a tree.

 

Gwendlin had recovered enough that she was ordering the villagers about, fussing over the order of the wagons and trying to ensure as much materiel as possible could be salvaged from the wreck of what was once a burgeoning settlement. Everyone studiously ignored the collapse of jagged rock heaped haphazardly where once a proud bluff had stood. Mossflowers had been laid on the heap of rubble at its base, a small and profound monument to the final resting place of an unlucky few.

 

Exhausted, Berta broke off from the group and strode across to what was once the wooden shack she'd shared with Lya these past weeks. She flinched at a touch on her shoulder from her friend and let out a long, morose breath as memories reared up. She banished them with a forceful mental shove. 'This was home to some people, Lya. When will the destruction end?'

 

'I'm not sure it ever will.' Lya brushed her arm and then gave Berta space as they set about salvaging various small possessions from the wreckage. She should very much like to feel home again, but in such an unsettled world, what would home look like? If the people of this new world were to thrive, they needed permanency. How to achieve it was another matter, but after this latest setback, and with Myrddraal and Trollocs growing ever bolder, the need was greater than ever.

 


	3. To Join A Cause

CHAPTER 3 - TO JOIN A CAUSE

 

Dashelle Kandillar stared at the lazy current drifting past as she squatted on the banks of the river that the locals had taken to calling the Eldar. She wrung the water from her only spare dress, a faded woollen thing the colour of rust. Holding it up to the light, she poked a finger through one of the many holes in the fabric. She could have expunged the dirt and dust using the One Power, but discretion had become vital in the past two weeks. They were being hunted, being driven south and west, constantly on the move.

 

A grunt escaped as she heaved her bulk up the slope of the riverbank. The iron grey sky promised heavy rainfall. Miserable for travelling, and with no way of using _saidar_ to provide respite. She hurried back to the village of Gantilla and swept into the Golden Naze; a modest, functional wayside inn. Palen Vandere blinked as Dashelle entered the small room they'd hired, as though Dashelle's return was the last thing she was expecting. The woman had a perpetual air of a dim-witted, forgetful grandmother, but there was no denying her skill in metallurgical matters.

 

'Any sign of the others, Palen?'

 

'The others? Oh, yes, the others. No, I haven't seen them since... No, I haven't seen them.'

 

Dashelle sighed and went about hanging her dress over the top of the door. 'They should be returning soon. If they do not, we will check the north road, yes?'

 

Palen gave no indication she was listening. The remaining two women in their party, Colira Makanga and Gennina Forsban had gone to check on the wagon-load of metals that was the group's livelihood. It was also the cause of their current flight.

 

To Dashelle, their endeavours were benign enough. After the Breaking, an abundance of untapped metal had risen close enough to the surface to extract. It was a simple matter for four women skilled in Earth to detect and harvest these metals using the One Power. The Light knew men and women had need of such material as they sought to build anew. Weapons and armour, utensils, building materials, and coinage were all in short supply and high demand. While the four of them hadn't exactly grown rich from their practices, they were certainly comfortable.

 

Their comfortable existence had been thrown into turmoil two weeks ago, in the foothills of the Mountains of Mist. They had stepped on the toes of local miners, who in their anger had named them Aes Sedai; a claim the women were quick to deny. That name had a habit of finding wings, however. Within days, they found themselves fleeing southward in the dead of night as word reached them of a party of channellers asking after so-called Aes Sedai.

 

The decision to flee, rather than stay and explain, had been vindicated when the air had been split by lightnings in an almost clear sky. That attack had accounted for one of the wagons; the one laden with clothes and food supplies. They were left with just one wagon now, filled with copper and iron ore they didn't have the time or bravery to trade.

 

They had been harried almost constantly over the past two weeks, catching only fleeting glimpses of those who followed. A clever false trail laid by Gennina two nights past had afforded them enough space to sleep in an inn for the first time during their flight. The wagon had been concealed in a ditch on the approach to Gantilla and they had ridden in on the horses.

 

Commotion from downstairs sent a jolt of panic down Dashelle's spine. She clawed for _saidar_ and found it eluded her. She glared at an admonishing sniff from Palen, while acknowledging the woman was very probably right in her judgement. By the time the door to the room banged open, she had several nasty weaves of air prepared; it was only the sight of Colira's face that stopped her from unleashing them.

 

The relief at the appearance of friend rather than foe was short-lived. Colira's eyes danced frantically as words began to tumble from her. 'Gather what you can. We are outed. You have mere minutes before our pursuers arrive. Gennina has instructed us to split up. Should you win free of the village, strike south along the river and we shall reconvene when possible. If not, may the Light shine favourably upon the both of you.'

 

With that, she span from the room to attend to her own needs. Dashelle exchanged glances with Palen, who merely smiled at her. The older woman's eyes were sharp. 'Well, girl? What are you waiting for? Get moving or you'll find out how the rabbit feels inside the snare.'

 

Dashelle frowned. 'But, I can't just leave you here.'

 

'Girl, this is a changed world. Just because the earth is no longer being tossed around like waves in a storm doesn't mean there isn't danger lurking at every turn. The lucid mind is far more destructive than the one tainted by madness. Now, leaving me here is exactly what you're going to do.'

 

'But they'll...'

 

'You have no idea what they will or won't do.'

 

'But you're...'

 

'Old? Addled? My dear girl, just because I do not throw lightning around at the merest suggestion of danger, do not think me without weapons. Now go, and be quick about it.'

 

Dashelle nodded, darting from the room. She hesitated at the door to the room Colira and Gennina shared. Colira's usually warm demeanour had evaporated; the Light new what sort of temper she might find upon Gennina. She scurried down the stairs into the common room of the inn. The heat in her face rose as she realised she had no idea about the identity of the women tracking them, or who they may have recruited to their cause. Any of the rough-faced men glancing up from their cups could be an informant. She worked to keep her face still as she moved towards the back door.

 

Once in the alley, she moved quickly towards the ramshackle stable. Reaching the edge of the inn, she peered through the gap in the buildings and cursed under breath. She saw several finely-dressed women idly questioning the village folk. There were at least seven she could see; they were hopelessly outnumbered. Despite an inherent dislike of women who could channel, the villagers weren't likely to put up any kind of resistance in the face of such questioning, and it was already clear that the women were being directed towards the inn.

 

She slipped quickly behind the stable, abandoning thoughts of taking her horse and making a run for it; she'd be wrapped up in flows of air before she reached a gallop.

 

She quickened her step as she felt weaves of _saidar_ being lashed back and forth. In the confusion, she quickly wove something she had never told anyone she knew, not even her three companions. With this in place, the women wouldn't be able to detect her ability to channel the One Power by virtue of simple proximity.

 

Creeping slowly now the channelling had ceased, she breathed a sigh of relief, grateful none of the tumult of puissance had been directed towards her. Guilt followed; the three women she travelled with weren't friends exactly, but she'd grown to like them, even stern-faced Gennina. Another glance between buildings and she almost stopped dead. Gennina, Colira and Palen were being led into the village square, three elaborately-garbed women on each side of them. She squeaked and dived into the nearest building, the local blacksmith shop.

 

She edged her gazed around the doorway of the smithy. Her three companions knelt before a semi-circle of twelve imperious women. The village had grown quiet, its inhabitants shuffling closer, wary but intrigued to observe what justice would be meted out. Surprised and appalled they had fugitives in their midst.

 

One woman stepped forward from the twelve. Her violet dress was bedecked with expensive silver needlework. She was of her middle years, her black hair curled into an elaborate style Dashelle wasn't familiar with. Blue eyes blazed from under a stern brow as she channelled to force Gennina's chin upwards. Dashelle waited for fire to bloom from the very air as the two women locked eyes. Gennina was the proudest woman Dashelle had ever met, but it was possible she'd just met her equal.

 

The woman in violet tossed her head back and released a lilting laugh. 'Well, aren't you quite the catch? If only we'd found you sooner, if only you'd been amenable to a reasonable conversation, you'd have made a fine Aes Sedai.'

 

Dashelle flinched as Gennina broke into a hysterical laugh. 'Aes Sedai? You and your bunch of pretenders? The Aes Sedai are unmade, you fool. Who do you think you are to make such a claim?'

 

The pale woman's voice held the promise of danger. 'My name is not important, child. I speak on behalf of Elisane Tishar, she who would see the Aes Sedai remade. All those with the ability to wield _saidar_ will be unified under the banner of the Aes Sedai and we will rebuild this world anew. Think carefully, Elisane will not suffer rivals.'

 

'Do you really think us rivals? We are merchants,' Gennina spat.

 

'Are you implying that you would not join our cause? Should that be so, you are by definition and decree a rival.'

 

'I'm not Aes Sedai. You're not Aes Sedai. The male Aes Sedai went insane and broke the world. The rest... well, call yourselves as you will, you will never have the trust of the people of this world.'

 

Her adversary sighed and shook her head. 'Another unsighted fool. You've passed up a great and benevolent opportunity this day. Time heals all.' Her smile grew triumphant. 'Well, almost all. Dakorah.'

 

A dark skinned woman with flat eyes stepped forward and with a nonchalant gesture, wove something from Spirit. Dashelle didn't recognise the weave, but Gennina had gone stiff, disbelief painted across her face. 'You... wouldn't,' she began, before pitching forward. She was screaming before her face hit the dirt.

 

'You severed her!' Colira cried, before vomiting on the ground in front of her. Dashelle squeaked and pushed a fist into her mouth. Breath hissed from her nose as she began to hyperventilate. A muffled sob sounded against her balled hand as fear wrapped its icy fingers around her soul. The violet-bedecked woman was content to allow Gennina's screams to continue. They drowned out any further words, but Dashelle could clearly see Colira and Palen nodding frantically when faced with the same ultimatum.

 

As the twelve women turned to leave with their quarry, the raven-haired woman looked over her shoulder and seemed to look straight at Dashelle. She shrank deeper into the shadowed doorway. Sharp nails dug into her scalp as someone grabbed a fistful of her hair. A laugh sounded behind her and the shield slammed into place cutting her off from _saidar_. She screamed.


	4. A Summons

CHAPTER 4 - A SUMMONS

 

The column of wagons exited the dense forest just before dusk. Palardell stood in the centre of the valley, straddling a narrow, frothing river which had already gouged a trench in the land since the Breaking. It was a welcome sight; Berta's back and legs ached from a long, relentless day rolling in the saddle. Once reports and formalities had been finalised, she planned a long soak and a longer sleep.

 

As ever when she emerged from these trees, Berta felt a disquiet that this was the best humanity had to offer in this new world. A wall of piled stone raised to two man heights offered some protection, even if Trollocs hadn't ventured this far south in recent years. Crude timber and stone buildings amassed within, crowding labyrinthine streets.

 

The north gate opened as the militia guard recognised demoralised faces in the column. A sombre silence settled over the town as they trudged in; Berta caught worried looks among the townsfolk which asked the obvious question of how they would feed an extra three hundred mouths with winter approaching.

 

She gathered the sisters to her as they pulled into the square in front of the two-storey stone building the _ajah_ had been granted for their use. 'The Captain-General will want our report. Once we're done with official business, I expect you'll all want to bathe and sleep, and I can't say you don't deserve it. The Captain-General may have other ideas of course,' she added with a grimace.

 

Berta exchanged a look with Lya. She expected the Captain-General might scald her for running off into the night chasing fantastical male channellers, that she would once again find herself labelled as _young and headstrong._ Lya merely smirked in response; for some reason the woman found it highly amusing when Berta was on the end of a verbal lashing.

Leading her sisters into the hall, Berta saw Mitsora Caal stood in the centre of the communal area which commanded the majority of the ground floor. The Captain-General was busy facing down a man a head taller than her. Small and lean in stature, she always appeared to be looking down upon whomever she was talking to. Yaltran Gammori was no exception, though Berta allowed he withstood Mitsora's infamous glare better than most.

 

Mitsora looked ready to chew Yaltran's head clean off his shoulders. â€˜I have told you many times, Master Gammori, we cannot and will not abandon the Aiel.' Berta winced. An old argument. The respect between the twin heads of the northern resistance was evident, but this particular issue bubbled up to the surface like a sickly miasma on a regular basis.

 

Yaltran Gammori hissed in frustration and began to stalk back and forth in front of Mitsora. 'I understand your reluctance, Captain-General, but the continued protection of the Aiel is wrongheaded. Now more than ever. My men find more tracks each day. Could be it's merely goats and rams, but we both know that isn't a gamble we can afford.' The militiamen accompanying Yaltran became interested in inspecting the leather on their boots as they suppressed groans and winces. The men who had spoken to Mitsora Caal thus and still had their hide intact were few. In private moments with her Captain-General, however, she knew that Mitsora appreciated Yaltran for his backbone and his military mind. The leader of the militiamen didn't understand how to take a backwards step; without him, the _ajah_ would have been overcome on several occasions.

 

Mitsora sighed, ostensibly tired of going over old ground. 'I wouldn't ask you to abandon your values, Yaltran. Yet you ask me to abandon mine. You ask too much. Now, the appearance of sisters I hadn't expected to see for another week requires my attention. Ill tidings, I can assume.'

 

If Yaltran was aggrieved at the abrupt end to the discussion, he did a good job of biting down his disapproval. Berta took the cue, stepping forward to make her report. Mitsora's gaze had not softened any, and Berta thought it a wonder she managed to keep her voice steady. â€˜The garrison is destroyed, Captain-General. An earthshake, as best we can determine.'

 

Mitsora merely raised an eyebrow. 'There is more?' It wasn't truly a question. 'Quickly, girl. We don't have all evening.'

 

'Yes. Well, I led a small party to circle the village to ensure we weren't under attack from a... That is, I wanted to determine that the shake wasn't due to _saidin_.' She felt heat rising in her face as Mitsora considered her for a long moment.

 

'And what did you find, girl?'

 

'Nothing, Captain-General. Only... Well, I saw what appeared to be a lone Trolloc, scouting. When it saw us, it returned from whence it came.'

 

Mitsora nodded, her brow furrowed in a distasteful frown. 'Very well. I'm sure you do not need me to tell you that this _ajah_ is not given to the whimsical chasing of male channellers. We will discuss the matter further when you report to me at first light.'

 

Berta groaned inwardly even as she nodded. That would not be a pleasant conversation. It also scuppered her plans to lie abed until noon. She slunk back into line with her sisters and glanced at Yaltran, feeling jealous of the apparent ease with which he was able to lead his militia. Maybe he would provide a different angle to Mitsora's lecture on the finer points of leadership. The Light knew she needed all the help she could get.

 

Yaltran signalled to his half-dozen men that the audience was over. The set of his jaw, however, showed that Mitsora hadn't heard the last of the debate. Gwendlin had approached Mitsora for a private conversation, and Berta took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. The bath house called to her aching bones, but she sidled up to Yaltran as they exited the hall.

 

He arched a speculative brow at her. 'If you're here to echo your Captain-General, you'll find me about as receptive as the mule beneath the switch.'

 

Berta flashed as sweet a smile as she could manage. It wasn't something she had much practice at, and Yaltran's momentary widening of the eyes might have been surprise or horror. 'Are you suggesting you may be just a little stubborn, Master Gammori?' Before the blockish man could object, Berta pressed on. 'I find myself equally frustrated by the Aiel and their Way of the Leaf, I admit. Nor am I old enough to fully appreciate the old ties with the Aes Sedai.'

 

'You know the danger of that name, Berta. Never mind trying to aspire to their ways.'

 

'That's not a conversation we need to have. I'm here to lend you a sympathetic ear. I don't guarantee Mitsora will heed what I have to say, or indeed that I'll carry your message to her, but I'm interested in hearing you nonetheless. Tell me, what would be the disposition of our forces, if you were given full command?'

 

The man snorted. 'Our forces? Or my forces? Full command? Chance would be a fine thing.'

 

'Master Gammori, do not suppose to drive a wedge between the _ajah_ and your militia. Despite occasional appearances, I assure you every last one of my sisters understands the need for unity here. Petulance does not become you. Now, if you would?'

 

He sighed. 'Very well. As you know, we're already stretched too thin. While I mourn the loss of good men and women, the destruction of the garrison is no disaster. Better to concentrate forces.'

 

'You would gladly concede the land?.

 

'Not at all. Every single step conceded pains my soul, but it is apparent we are ill-equipped for the task at hand.'

 

'It has always been so. What then, Master Gammori, would you have us do?'

 

'Look at this place, Berta. It is the most secure and defensible town for leagues in any direction. It's true the Trollocs rarely quest this far south, but as the corruption of the Blasted Lands advances, is it not a matter of time before we are forced to defend Palardell?'

 

'Yes, we're aware of the inevitability of this.'

 

'Look closely. These walls are as nothing to a band of Trollocs. We would be overrun by an organised force, even with your One Power.' The veins in Yaltran's neck bulged as he hissed his message.

 

'We do what we can, Master Gammori, and we hope to the Light that it is enough.'

 

'And I'm thankful for it in truth. Berta, we need to _build_. Walls as thick as a man is high. So high that a man would die if he fell from them. We need weapons and armour that do not break at the merest touch of a Trolloc blade.'

 

Berta sighed. 'I do not believe this world has seen the like since the War of Power.'

 

'The Shadow gathers its forces, Berta. It will never cease, and while the southerners worry about trading and growing fat off the land, we must hold the dark tide at bay.'

 

'And the Aiel?'

 

'Fools,' Yaltran spat. 'The land corrupts and their efforts do almost nothing to stem its onset. We stretch an already thin force to protect those who would not contribute to the cause.'

 

'I think, they are not so different from you and your militia.'

 

'How so?'

 

'I am under no illusion that you and your men are willing to die in defence of these lands. I've seen it more than I wish to remember. The Aiel fight a different fight. Do not think they are ignorant of its dangers. Like the rest of us, they do what they can to keep the Dark at bay.'

 

'With the loss of the garrison they are defenceless. It's almost a full day's ride from here.'

 

'Defenceless, yes. But not undefended. We will find a way.'

 

'They do not appreciate our aid, even in killing shadowspawn.'

 

'That's true, they do not. It seems acceptance is in short supply.'

 

The man grunted in reply, but his disposition had softened. 'I must attend my men. Thank you for this discussion. You will think on what I said?'

 

'I believe I will, Master Gammori. I'd implore you to reciprocate.'

 

She nodded her farewell and made for the bath house. Reflecting upon the exchange, she shook her head in wonder. She'd gone looking for advice and had come away having delivered the sort of lecture she was more used to receiving. Could it be that no-one truly had all the answers when it came to leadership? Or was Yaltran Gammori simply toying with her? Letting out a sigh, she traipsed onward through the mud, hoping Lya had done the decent thing and informed the ladies at the bath house to expect her.

 

***

 

Berta awoke to something fleshy rubbing against her cheek. A desultory, aimless wave of her hand followed by a grunt resulted in a fit of laughter from somewhere above her. A grainy image began to form through slitted eyelids; an olive-skinned foot. Feigning continued lethargy, she wove a firm flow of air at Lya's standing leg, and was rewarded by a surprised shriek as her friend was tossed up into the air. She wove a new, flatter flow of air to cushion Lya's fall, letting go of the weave at the last moment so the woman landed with an appropriate thump.

 

Pushing her blankets back, she wiped away the crusted spittle adorning her cheek, and looked through her fingers at Lya. 'Ugh... Blood and cinders, how long did I sleep?'

 

Lya picked herself up and flexed an arm. 'You never fight fair. To answer your question, you slept too long. The sun is about to come up, and Mitsora will tear strips from you if you're not downstairs very soon.'

 

She loosed a curse that raised even Lya's brows, picking a sturdy, grey woollen dress off the hook before shrugging into it. Light, she'd been spending too much time around the militiamen. She splashed her face with water from the basin and ran a brush through her hair. 'Well, time to weather the torrent.'

 

Mitsora was, as expected, in her sparsely furnished room just off the main hall. Everything within was functional with sharp edges that betrayed no hint of her background and origin. Indeed, the only thing it conveyed was that the Captain-General of the _ajah_ was not one for frivolity or ostentation. The stern-faced woman was, as ever, immaculate. Not a hair out of place, and not a single crease in her forest green dress as she sat behind her plain desk.

 

She discarded the sheaf of paper in her hand and arched an eyebrow at Berta. 'Not quite first light, is it, girl?'

 

'Apologies, Captain-General.' She thought about an excuse, but there was nothing she could concoct at such short notice that the woman opposite her wouldn't see through.

 

To Berta's surprise, Mitsora waved a dismissive hand. 'Sit, girl. I have more important matters at hand this morning than scalding you. You handled the situation at the garrison well enough.'

 

'Then why did you...'

 

'Because I needed a diversion to silence Yaltran.'

 

Berta nodded as though she understood. Mitsora flashed a wry smile. 'One of the worst things a leader can do is explain in front of those she leads. It's one of the very finest ways to see her authority undermined. Now, there was a rider in the night. Read this.' She pushed the paper to the edge of her desk.

 

There was a faint quiver in her hand as she picked up the paper and digested its contents. Elisane Tishar had delivered a summons to all known _ajah_ to convene on the shores of the River Erinin, below Dragonmount. She left it in no doubt that she _would_ see all the female channellers on the continent under one banner; the banner of the Aes Sedai. It was unequivocal in its message that resistance would be dealt with swiftly and with finality.

 

'Aes Sedai? Truly? Dangerous, to put words such as this to paper.' Her stomach was empty, but it churned nonetheless. Mitsora stared through the wood-panelled wall, as though her sight stretched all those leagues to the south and she could discern the inner motivations of Elisane Tishar. The slience began to stretch. 'Captain-General?'

 

The woman came to with a grunt. 'Truly. From my dealings with the woman, Elisane Tishar's haughtiness is outstripped only by her ambition. Though it aggrieves me to admit it, if she truly has the numbers she suggests, she may be able to see this through.'

 

'Are you suggesting the _ajah_ will join the ranks of this new order of Aes Sedai?'

 

Mitsora barked a mirthless laugh. 'Not for a moment, girl.'

 

'Then what...'

 

'I'll open it up to the rest of the sisters of course. Elisane has the numbers to make our lives very difficult indeed if we're seen to overtly disobey this... summons. At present, I don't see any other course than to go to Dragonmount and take the measure of the woman. It's been ten years since we last crossed paths.'

 

'That's all well, Captain-General, but may I ask... Why did you show me this before the rest of the sisters?'

 

The edge of Mitsora's lip curved upwards; this was akin to a full-bellied laugh from most people. 'I would have your opinion on the matter in private before I travel to Dragonmount.'

 

'Why?'

 

'Because, girl, you're coming with me.'

 

***

 

The hall had been closed off to visitors. Nineteen sisters sat on stiff-backed chairs in a rough semi-circle facing Mitsora Caal, Captain-General of the _ajah_. She had just finished reading Elisane Tishar's summons verbatim, and now paced back and forth, tight lipped, surveying the women arrayed before her. 'Voice your doubts, women. I can be almost certain my own doubts form a full list, yet I would hear yours.'

 

Gwendlin bent her neck to confer with the woman next to her, a stick-like woman named Harinn Jontlaw. The wave of whispered conversations spread outwards, like the rustle of leaves tossed by a zephyr. No-one appeared to notice the weave emanating from Mitsora, and a booming clap sounded above their heads, the timbers of the hall reverberating. The woman's own face roiled like an angry thunderhead.

 

'Do I lead a gaggle of gossiping village girls?' Mitsora spat. 'Have I failed so spectacularly in my teachings that you scramble hither and thither at the merest hint of upheaval? Am I not facing a group of women who have faced down Trollocs and worse? I _will_ have an orderly discussion in this hall.'

 

Silence fell over the women, with several becoming interested in smoothing their skirts. It was Gwendlin who spoke up. 'Captain-General, we are not Aes Sedai. So much has been lost that we can never hope to step into that breach. The people here do not love us. We are merely... of use. Should we start calling ourselves Aes Sedai, they will surely cast us out and what we have worked so hard for will be undone.'

 

Mitsora nodded. 'Duly noted, Gwendlin. I'm well aware of the people's disposition towards us.' The rueful cast of her mouth told Berta she hadn't forgotten her most recent exchange with Yaltran.

 

To Berta's surprise, it was Lya who spoke up next. 'I'm in favour. These people fail to advance themselves and they die for it. If we do not take the lead in this new world, then who will?'

 

Objections and approvals began to flow forth. Berta didn't take her eyes from Mitsora, who stood, hands folded behind her back, a rock that would stand against rain, wind or shine. She would endure. There was no possible way this Elisane Tishar could best the Captain-General, or grind her down. Not for the first time, Berta had the overwhelming feeling that this was a woman worth following. If Mitsora Caal wasn't Aes Sedai, nobody was.

 

Once Mitsora was satisfied the sisters had voiced their doubts, assurances and fears, she began to pace back and forth. 'I will think on what you have said, my sisters. I will go to Dragonmount and hear Elisane Tishar. I do not love her or her methods, but I see how she may make an efficient figurehead.' She turned to face the group. Mitsora was never one to shy away from a difficult conversation. 'I may not return. This path is a dangerous one. Stand assured that if Eilsane does not give me the guarantees we require, I will not accede to her wishes. For that I may pay the ultimate price. I do not plan on doing so, but I am willing, if it should come to it. In that event, elect a new Captain-General, and do what you do best. Fight.'

 

Berta swallowed hard. What was she walking into with this woman? A woman that was willing to die for her cause. She looked away, feeling a profound sense of shame as the realisation smacked her between the eyes. Berta's cause for the past ten years had been tearing shadowspawn apart, a cause she thought she shared with every other woman in the room. Every woman but one, it appeared, for Mitsora's cause was plainly the safety and sisterhood of the women arrayed before her.

 

The heavy barred doors at the front of the hall shook, as frantic fists beat upon them. A muffled shout came from beyond. 'Sisters! Attend us! Trollocs sighted to the north!'

 


	5. Darkness Spills

CHAPTER 5 - DARKNESS SPILLS

 

The sisters had poured from the hall in all haste. The runner quickly gave his report; scouts had sighted a band of Trollocs roving through the forests to the north. Mitsora had been unequivocal in her response; they had to be tracked down and eradicated.

 

Berta and her sisters were now mounted in their battle garb. Divided skirts for riding, light leather armour either under or over dresses. Though Berta wasn't one of them, some women chose to use channelling foci such as staves, glass orbs, or in Lya's case, her knives. The entire _ajah_ sat their horses stiffly, patiently, staring at the verdant wall half a league to the north. The scene reminded Berta of a pack of hounds prior to the hunt.

 

By contrast, the militiamen were a hive of activity. Here a man licked a whetstone down longknives, there another sighted down the length of a quarterstaff. Children scurried everywhere, ferrying arrows from the fletcher's workshop. Wives and mothers swallowed their fear to bid stoic, grim-faced men final farewells.

 

She was relieved to see Mitsora and Yaltran had set aside their differences from the previous evening. They had their heads together as they planned the deployment of the sisters and the militiamen. A return to fluid communications was welcome, and Berta liked to think she'd played some small part in that.

 

Yaltran's second-in-command, a hirsute bear of a man named Goosun Arnrod, bellowed the order for the militiamen to form up. Berta often wondered why he bothered; shortly after, they had organised themselves into a ragged line that was two abreast in some places, three abreast in others. Arnrod appeared inexplicably appeased. Lya snorted with delight at the ragtag formation of the men.

 

They departed Palardell through its ramshackle northern gate like a dishevelled serpent emerging from under a rock. The sinuous line of four hundred men were well-versed, and quickly broke up into five companies before slithering into the dank welcome of the trees.

 

The _ajah_ brought up the rear, and Mitsora briefed them on the move. A squad of four sisters would be affixed to each company. Berta was given command of one of these squads, and had Lya under her command, along with Zorina Dalsham and Nathoo Faldhain. Berta was certainly glad of Nathoo's presence in her squad. She trusted Lya with her life, but the woman had an impetuous, masochistic streak; she courted danger. Zorina was fierce enough in the din of battle, but she was young, and yet to reach her full potential. Nathoo was of middle years, and she was strong in the One Power. More importantly, she was battle smart. Her coolness and speed of thought as chaos buffeted her on all sides was something Berta strived for.

 

Their company was one of three that would strike straight for the Trollocs, forming the left flank prior to initial contact. The remaining two companies would head east and west to gather reinforcements from nearby outposts. The Trollocs had been estimated at close to two thousand strong, which meant the presence of several Myrddraal.

 

By late afternoon, scouts had picked up the trail of the Trollocs, though it look little skill. The Trollocs' passing left a trail of wanton destruction. The forest floor had been churned by countless oversized animal hooves and feet, but the limbs of the trees had been indiscriminately hacked at, ostensibly for no other reason than to mete out damage to something living. The leavings of woodland fauna were a stark reminder of the true evil of Trollocs. They would eat anything that had flesh on its bones, including each other if it came to it, but they preferred humans above all else.

 

The sisters rode together in a tight knot, unlike the militiamen. As was their wont, they blended into the forest around her. Indeed, she could only see half a dozen of them, but she knew the rest were close by. The pace was hard; the forest was the militiamen's favoured terrain, where they stood a far better chance of picking off the Trollocs at will with bow, stave and blade. Meeting Trollocs in the open, where the Myrddraal had chance to organise them into a rampaging stampede, meant a quick end for the men who stood in their path.

 

Berta nudged her horse to slow a little, signalling a look to Lya, who followed suit. There was now sufficient distance to the other two women, but she kept her voice low regardless. 'We're headed straight for the Aiel.'

 

Lya grimaced. 'If the Trollocs get there first, things will get ugly.'

 

'We should increase our pace. If we don't catch the Trollocs before dark, I hold out little hope for the Aiel.'

 

Lya grunted in agreement. 'Quite. Nor do I relish being among these trees as the shadows grow longer, and the reach of the Halfmen with it.'

 

Berta had to agree, and wondered at the wisdom of the pursuit. The Trollocs hadn't been this far south in such numbers for as long as she could remember. If that wasn't strange in itself, it was even stranger that they should then loop back north. She once again rued the loss of the garrison, which had left them blind to the advance of the Trollocs.

 

The trees had begun to thin and before long they emerged into a clearing. A hissed signal arrived from the militiamen, but it wasn't required. Thick smoke billowed into the sky from beyond the next tree-lined rise. She kicked her heels into her horse's flanks and bellowed orders for the men to ready themselves. They would circle to the west and attack from the flank. Just before she plunged into the gloom of the trees once more, she saw lightning lance from the sky, and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. _Mitsora, thank the Light._

Blood pounded in her ears as she raced through the final thicket. Branches whipped at her face and the leather of her riding gloves strained over her knuckles as she gripped the reins. The barely distinguishable forms of the militiamen flashed by at the edges of her vision. Hoofs beat beside her as Lya's horse matched hers step-for-step.

 

She emerged from the dense tangle of leaves and branches into a tumult of carnage. The angry orb of the sun was about to duck below the horizon, as though it could not bear to witness the indiscriminate slaughter to come. It bruised the underside of the clouds purple and orange; a crimson corona blazed around the cloying black smoke billowing from the Aiel wagons.

 

Berta roared, a silent scream lost in the din of battle. Human screams and Trolloc snarls commingled with the clang of metal-on-metal as blades clashed. The fire of the wagons cast an indignant light upon the battle; the Trollocs had abandoned discipline now the taste of blood filled the air, and they harried their prey in their typical haphazard manner.

 

Berta's arms flashed in the direction of the nearest Trolloc. She wove threads of air, pushing all of her force into it. As it neared the Trolloc, she _sharpened_ its edge, driving it home between plates of armour, into the soft tissue of the armpit. She loosed a cry of triumph as she felt something give, watching a thick, meaty arm tear free of the torso. In the time it took for the Trolloc to squeal in pain, she'd repeated the trick with the other arm.

 

She dismounted and strode towards the chaos. Lya was at her side, knives in her hands. Fire and lightning shot from the silver blades, every one striking true. Trollocs burned slowly, rolling in desperation to extinguish the flames.

 

Anger welled up in her. Over time, she had learned to submit to her anger, to let it guide her flows. Instinct guided those flows of air that cleaved through the Trollocs. Limbs detached from grotesque bodies; she could kill quickly, but better to kill slowly. She and Lya fought back to back, a mesmeric, swirling dance that delivered only suffering as it tore through the Trolloc ranks. She was home here, in the din of battle. Fighting and killing was her true calling, the only place left where everything felt _right_.

 

An intense darkness drew her gaze, the silhouettes of whistling arrows disappearing for a heartbeat as they traversed deepest shadow. From the roiling, inky stain emerged an alabaster face, apparently suspended in air. Its eyeless gaze sought to pierce her, to pin her where she stood. The apparition held up a sword of purest dark, bisecting its mournful, pallid visage. A weapon forged in hate and quenched in blood. A scarlet tongue snaked out and eagerly slithered up the length of the blade.

 

She knew fear, felt tiny needles trying to stab despair into her soul. However, she had also been forged in hate; an unquenchable hate that boiled inside her with the heat of a thousand forges. Hate was her weapon, and she wielded it to shatter her fear. She met that gaze and flashed a rictus grin.

 

She exploded into motion, arms swirling and twisting as she wove an onslaught of air every bit as sharp as the Myrddraal's blade. The deadly currents twisted this way and that, forming a lethal net that offered no escape. If the Fade was unbalanced by her response, it recovered in but a moment, distorting itself impossibly to evade her weaves.

 

It became hard to focus on the night clad creature as it cavorted through the shadows, melding with the darkness and reappearing several paces away from Berta's frantic arrows of air. She bit her tongue and tasted blood, splitting her flows three ways, then six, aiming for pockets of shadow as she tried to anticipate the Myrddraal's next move. It was thirty paces distant, then twenty, twirling its sword in menacing readiness. Desperation assaulted her, threatening to shatter the calm required to work _saidar._ She wove fire, suspending a ball of white flame above her, fouling the fickle shadows in front of the Halfman. One stuttering step was all she needed, whipping a flow of air into the Fade's neck. Head parted from body with a satisfying rip, and she sagged against Lya, sucking the smoke-filled air into her lungs.

 

The Myrddraal's body cut a staggering path around the battlefield, the sword flailing blindly. Berta wove binding flows of air to hold the Fade in place and tied them off.

 

She surveyed the battle, now illumined only by the intensifying flames of burning wagons, and the flash of fire and lightning from her sisters.

 

The hail of arrows from the militiamen had ceased; the fletchers' efforts used up. The men slunk through the grasses in bands of six or eight, taking advantage of the Trollocs' indiscipline to isolate them in ones, twos and threes. The tactic wasn't wholly successful; Trolloc senses were heightened in the dark compared to those of humans. The militiamen were as mice, but they couldn't mask their scent. Nor could they match the Trollocs when the numbers were even.

 

Berta hissed her frustration. 'It's not enough. We need to reach our sisters and form a united front.' At a nod from Lya, she raised a flare of blue light and signalled for the men to rally to her. If they could slice through the Trolloc flank and reach the others, they could consolidate before pushing back.

 

Berta and Lya ducked as a winged shape glided above them. _Draghkar!_ Its underside was painted in hues of blood and gold by the flames, allowing enough light for Berta to see one of the Aiel cradled in its embrace. Lya snarled and aimed a ball of fire at the creature. It rolled in mid-air, easily evading the flame. It shrieked, and Berta though she could hear amusement in that crooning wail as the creature was swallowed by the night.

 

The line of militiamen shrank back towards her and she bellowed the order for a wedge formation, readying flows of air to punch a hole through the Trollocs' flank. The men would drive into the breach and win through.

 

She froze, exchanging a look with Lya. The ground under their feet began to rumble and the Trollocs in front of her began to bleat, roar and squawk into the acrid night sky, beating their rudimentary hooked weapons on shields and chest plates. She turned, and saw the faint, shadowy mass of Trollocs emerging from the tree line. _Reinforcements? They'v_ _e never been so coordinated! Light!_

 

Nathoo and Zorina were a hundred paces away, surrounded by their own knot of now panicked militiamen. Nathoo waved her staff back and forth in an arcing line. A wall of flame erupted from the ground. The Trollocs resisted, their hesitation plain as they were driven onwards towards the raging inferno. Berta acted quickly, lending her own flow of air to the flame. It blossomed and leapt into the Trolloc ranks; their squeals pierced the night sky but they continued on, driven by some implacable force of will.

 

She stood side-by-side with Lya now, as the dark tide bled from the forest. She scanned the enemy ranks, frantic; there had to be Myrddraal present to drive the Trollocs so. Felling one or more was the only chance they had, but spotting the Eyeless against the backdrop of impenetrable gloom was an almost impossible task.

 

The militiamen shrunk back towards her and Lya reflexively, forming a cordon around them and readying weapons. The display sent a chill down Berta's spine; they would be as flotsam in a storm if the Trollocs were allowed to strike home. She increased her efforts as they rampaged forward, her flows mangling and maiming, fouling the stride of those that followed.

 

She called to Nathoo and Zorina to fall back, as the gap between the two women and the onrushing tide inexorably narrowed. She shrieked as an arrow slammed into Zorina, unable to cease her own onslaught for even a second. Fire flashed from Nathoo in an appalling assault, but without Zorina to balance the scales, the Trollocs rushed freely forward, and it was but moments before Nathoo's light winked out.

 

Berta was exhausted. It was a matter of time before her and Lya suffered the same fate if they didn't receive aid. She loosed three white flares into the night. _Help! Now!_

The Trolloc attack now came from in front and to their right. She turned to face those on the flank and dug into her last reserves. _Light! Let it be enough. It has to be enough._

Trollocs continued to fall. They continued to cry their indignant rage, and they continued to press on. A maniacal cackle sounded over her shoulder and she saw Lya, apparently dancing with an invisible foe as she twirled her knives. Livid flame shot from the blades without cease. Berta let her senses brush over the other woman and she gasped. 'Lya, no! It's too much! Link with me!' It was the only way she could think of to control what Lya attempted.

 

Lya ignored her and began to quiver. Blood leaked from nose and ears as the woman drew ever deeper of the destructive nectar of _saidar_. She looked like she might collapse at any moment, staring _through_ the advancing Trolloc line. She drew her lips back into a painful, bloody grin. 'Come closer,' she ground out.

 

'Lya!' Berta cried. The skin on the back of Lya's hands began to crack and split, and her blood watered the thirsty earth. With a haunting howl, she drove her knives into the ground. Fire burst forth, and Berta held up a hand over her face. The wave of flame grew as it ripped into the Trollocs, incinerating everything in its path.

 

Berta screamed as Lya folded upon herself. She wanted nothing more than to hold Lya's prone form in her trembling arms. But she turned to face the unceasing advance of the Trollocs, planting herself squarely between them and Lya. She readied a plethora or the nastiest weaves she could think of; once loosed, she would be spent.

 

The earth heaved, rearing up into a devastating wall that buried almost half of the Trolloc ranks. Bodies tumbled and snapped, and lightning ripped into those that won clear of the avalanche. Gwendlin appeared moments later, directing sisters and militiamen towards the devastated Shadowspawn.

 

The forces of the Dark were soon routed. She bent to examine the bloody mess that was Lya. The wave of relief was distant as she found her friend was still breathing. She lent what meagre Healing she could muster to stem the flow of blood still leaking from Lya's gaping wounds. Four militiamen appeared, lifting Lya with a tenderness that belied the grim horror on their faces. She let them hoist Lya up and carry her away. Lya had bought them their lives; Berta couldn't deny them the opportunity to repay that act in what little way they could. She turned away and saw a grave-faced Mitsora. The older woman gave her a small, stiff nod, before continuing about her business.

 

Berta stood in that spot for a long time and stared at the scorched earth, unable to let the anguish in. Unable to hurt. Unable to heal.

 

 

 


	6. A New Weave

CHAPTER 6 - A NEW WEAVE

 

Berta was ripped awake from a fitful sleep by a piercing scream which held the unmistakable horror of loss. She knew that voice. _Lya!_

She jolted upright, even as the door banged open. She was beside her friend before Mitsora and Gwendlin could close the distance. Taking Lya's head to her chest, she held her like a babe in arms. Lya's body shook with heaving sobs, gripping Berta's nightgown as though she never meant to let go.

 

'Oh, Berta. I can't touch it. It's right there, but I can't touch it.' Berta held on tighter, staring at Mitsora and Gwendlin with dead eyes. Mitsora held Berta's gaze for a long moment and then chivvied Gwendlin out of the room. Berta felt a keen sense of solitude as she regarded an inconsolable Lya. The truth Berta had known the previous night on the battlefield pierced her like an arrow between the eyes. Lya had burned herself out, severed her connection to the True Source, never to touch it again.

 

Berta didn't know if she could bear to see her friend's face, but with an effort she unwound herself from Lya's grip. The woman's usually jovial features were ravaged and twisted with grief and dread. She shook her head, her mouth working silently. 'I thought it would all be okay. I had to save us,' she eventually ground out.

 

'You did, Lya. You saved us. You, me, and all those men. You saved us all.' Berta didn't know what else to say, as she recalled Lya pulling an impossible amount of _saidar_ into herself, and that bloody, snarling grin as she invited the rampaging Trollocs towards her. 'Without what you did, none of us would be here.'

 

She looked into Lya's eyes and recoiled from what she saw, that death would have been kinder than her current bereft state. 'Stay here. I'll fetch us something to break our fast. You'll need to eat to supplement the healing.' She squeezed her friend once more. 'We'll overcome this, Lya. I swear it.' She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

 

The look Lya returned was without hope. Berta eased her down on her mattress and made for the kitchens. Every woman in the _ajah_ was aware of what lay in wait for Lya; yesterday she would have been in little doubt as to the woman's mental fortitude and her ability to find that something else to fill the void left by the absence of _saidar_. What she saw in Lya's eyes contradicted that assertion; the battle ahead would be every bit as arduous and protracted as the battle against the Shadow. _She won'_ _t die. I won't let her die._

Lya had fallen asleep when Berta returned, so she dressed and stepped out into the haphazard streets of Palardell. An overbearing silence hung around the town like a shroud, impermeable as the mist which restricted Berta's view to fifteen paces. She realised she had no destination, and so she merely walked, pulling up the hood of her cloak. Seclusion was easily found; nobody appeared keen to talk to one another this morning. Cries of grief assaulted her isolation as families mourned the loss of sons, husbands and fathers. She wove through the streets aimlessly, though always seeking to distance herself from those cries.

 

The morning would not grant her the gift of escape; the men had taken heavy losses before her sisters had been able to rout the Trollocs. She'd taken her own losses and the sharp feeling of failure cut at her as keenly as the biting cold of the mist. Three sisters under her command, all dead or burned out. She reached the edge of the town and stared into the grey veil. She wondered if it might be best for everyone if she were to carry on walking and let the fog swallow her. _Oh, Lya._

Commotion sounded behind her, the cries of grief had turned to anger. She ran towards those voices, skidding to a halt as she found a mob of men and women clamouring to enter the White Hare, one of the less salubrious inns in town. Gwendlin and Harinn stood barring the doorway; from the set of Gwendlin's jaw, she was ready to bite anyone who ventured too close.

 

Someone threw a fist-sized stone, which caught Harinn on the elbow. The woman shrieked and Gwendlin looked ready to return the stone none too gently from whence it came. Berta saw Yaltran Gamorri observing the mob from an alley and she stamped over to him. She arched her neck to meet his gaze. 'What is happening here?'

 

Yaltran leaned, nonchalant, against the wall of the storehouse which also served as an armoury. 'People are angry.'

 

'I see that, but why? Why are they trying to storm the inn?'

 

The man returned an insouciant shrug. 'I believe the Aiel were given lodgings in this particular inn.' He shook his head. 'I warned you no good would come of providing solace to the Aiel. Some people have taken the view that the lives of good men were given to protect those who do not appreciate the sacrifices made.'

 

Berta ground her teeth. 'Yaltran, do something.'

 

'What makes you think it's within my gift to do anything about this?'

 

'Light! These people listen to you, you fool man! It pains me to say it, but you're the only person who can stop this without causing a rift. Even Mitsora...'

 

'Mitsora should have known better than to bring the Aiel behind the walls. I can't imagine they were too pleased about the prospect themselves.'

 

'Master Gammori, we can ill afford to be divided on this.' Why did men have to be so stubborn when the solution was right in front of their eyes?

 

The man pushed himself from the wall and checked his weapons. 'I will try to smooth these troubled waters, but be wary, sister; even smooth water will carve through even the toughest rock, in time.'

 

Berta didn't reply, not trusting herself to speak without likening Yaltran's stubbornness to that of a stone. The man strode into the street in front of the White Hart and banged the butt of his axe against the wall of the storehouse. Dirty, tear-streaked faces wearing angry snarls turned to regard him. Silence fell and Berta caught Gwendlin's sigh of relief from behind the mob.

 

'My friends' Master Gamomri began. 'This is not our way. Vengeance is cheap and without honour.' He hefted his axe and regarded it. 'I use this to defend myself and mine. Would that I used it merely to chop wood.'

 

Dissenting voices rose, decrying the unnecessary loss of life, and Yaltran nodded. 'I too am aggrieved. The Aiel have no regard for their own safety. Yet they do not ask for protection. We might direct our anger towards the sisters in our midst, for it is they who accord that protection to the Aiel.'

 

Berta tensed. What was the man _doing_? She saw the aura of _saidar_ wink into existence around Gwendlin as accusing eyes darted in her direction. They might not have been brave enough before, but with Yaltran's weight behind their anger, it might be enough. She refrained from opening herself to the One Power, but her mind raced, and she knew exactly which weaves she would use if things escalated further. _Fool woman. Do not follow one disaster with another._

She moved to speak, but Yaltran continued. He was looking right at her, she realised. 'But we must ask ourselves... who does it serve to squabble over matters such as this? Surely the only ones who stand to gain are those allied to the Shadow. You all know the mantra of the militia; every man who fights does so freely. Many men went to their deaths yesterday, but they did so freely. Mourn your loss, but do not let grief boil over into anger, for that is not our way.'

 

When it was clear he had nothing more to say, the crowd looked suitably cowed and embarrassed. Many broke down as grief renewed its indiscriminate assault. Yaltran moved among them, whispering what consolation he had to offer. Berta eased through the crowd feeling insufficient, having no words of comfort for those in dire need. She nodded her thanks to Master Gammori and moved to join her sisters.

 

Gwendlin was scowling at the leader of the militia. 'He could have intervened sooner than he did,' she spat.

 

Berta sighed. 'Yes, he could. But perhaps he deemed it important that we felt the anger of his people.'

 

' _His_ people?' Gwendlin arched a brow.

 

'Do you believe them anything but his people? Gwendlin, look at him. I know little of kings, but Master Gammori is a king in all but name, I think.'

 

'Yes, well, he's certainly obstinate enough.' The older woman punctuated her opinion with a sniff.

 

'Gwendlin, his words weren't just for those about to pelt you and Harinn with rocks. He spoke wisely. Now, is it true the Aiel are cooped up inside here?'

 

Berta thought it impossible Gwendlin's expression could sour any further, yet at the mention of the Aiel, a grimace twisted her stately features. 'It is. And no, I don't know what Mitsora said to them to gain their compliance. They have been quite terse on the matter.'

 

'Go and rest, Gwendlin. I'll take a watch, but you might send one of the sisters that's currently abed?' She didn't mention that with rest, the woman would be less likely to bite the head off one of the townsfolk. She nodded, and Berta sighed her relief. Well, she needed a distraction anyway.

 

The White Hare had been closed off to regular patrons, though the stink emanating from ale-blackened tables assaulted Berta's senses as though the common room was full. Borris Mostil, the portly proprietor, looked utterly lost, unable to proffer his swill to the customary destitute crowd. He blinked as Berta entered, surprised to see anyone enter. His surprise disappeared when he realised it was one of the sisters. 'Greeting be with you, Mistress Berta. Expect you'll be here to see those Aiel folk, then.'

 

'They're upstairs?'

 

'That they are. Took one sip of my finest and went right back up the stairs, so they did. Most polite about the whole matter, I should add. Odd folk, so they are.'

 

Berta almost allowed herself a smile. 'Thank you, Master Mostil. I'll find my own way up.'

 

He nodded in reply, before spitting through a gap in his teeth onto the bar top and scrubbing it clean with a dirty sleeve. The White Hare was a complex warren of rooms, all of them too small to be comfortable, and adorned with furnishings others had no more use for.

 

She had to knock on four doors - each time she was greeted by women with soot-stained faces and fidgeting hands - before she was able to locate the clan chief. His jacket and breeches of grey and brown were tattered and streaked with black. Berta couldn't tell which was soot and which was blood. 'Greetings, Gragga Halmdon,' she began, trying to keep the regret from her voice. 'I would speak with you for a time, if you agree.'

 

He looked back into the room and exchanged a nod with his wife. 'I agree, Berta Trencine. Let us confer in the common room, though I would advise caution in sampling Borris Mostil's wares.'

 

Once downstairs, Berta declined the advances of a hopeful looking Master Mostil, settling in at one of the empty tables. I'm surprised to see you behind walls of stone, clan chief.'

 

The man opposite her nodded, his face grave. 'Yes, this is not to our liking, but my wife and I see the necessity of it. Our wagons are destroyed, our tools scattered to the winds. We have only our Voice. Mayhap that would be enough, but we have mouths to feed. We are not so fatalistic as some may think. We will rebuild our homes and we will resume our work.'

 

Berta nodded, pleased to see the Aiel accepting the offer of shelter. 'Gragga, I saw something quite curious on the field of battle last night. I saw a Draghkar carrying one of your people away. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I would name it a fancy.' She let the unspoken question hang.

 

After a long silence, Gragga glanced at the stairs, looking uncomfortable for the first time in the years Berta had been acquainted with him. 'I suppose as clan chief I can speak these truths to you, though it troubles my heart to do so.'

 

'I thank you for your candour, clan chief.'

 

'The Songstealers are anathema to us, and us to them, yet we are linked in the most revulsive of ways; their Song is a thing of filth and corruption, a twisting of the essence of our own Song. This has happened for many generations.'

 

'Do you mean to tell me the Shadow steals your people away and somehow _siphons_ the power of your Song and... Gragga, that's too terrible.'

 

He nodded. 'You are familiar with the name _Aginor_.'

 

'Yes, I'm familiar with the name.' She suppressed a shudder. It was unfathomable to think that the Forsaken walked the earth nary a generation past, in channellers' terms. She tried to think of a world without Trollocs, or Myrddraal. It was utterly fantastical. A world of constant upheaval with the perpetual threat of Shadowspan pouring from the Blasted Lands was all she'd ever known.

 

'The Songstealers are the worst of his creations How life could be twisted so... The wheel weaves and the power of our Song wanes, Berta Trencine; it will one day be lost to us. The only solace we can take from this is that one day, the Shadow will have nothing left to take from us.'

 

A sadness fell upon Berta, which was quickly swallowed by the depthless void within her. 'What will you do when that day arrives, clan chief?'

 

The man stared at her for a long moment. 'We have no other purpose. I suspect we will search for our lost Song. There are other Aiel in the world. I hear they have taken a different path, but maybe the power of the Song resides within them still.'

 

'I hope that eventuality doesn't arise, clan chief. We will do all we can to aid you.'

 

His mouth turned down at the edges. 'Your so-called aid is unasked for, Berta Trencine. Life is life.'

 

Berta couldn't resist the riposte. 'Yes, it is. I'll be sure to let the Trollocs know when we next cross paths.'

 

The Aielman snorted, before his grey eyes bored into her. 'I sense a great darkness upon your heart, Berta Trencine. Should you ever grow weary of the path you've chosen, I believe you might find a place among us.'

 

'Thank you, clan chief. I'll ensure wood and materials are available for you to rebuild your wagons.'

 

Following her meeting with Gragga, she ran errands around Palardell. She visited the lumber yard to inform Karryl Til that the Aiel should be given as much as they needed to replenish their wagons, assuring him the _ajah_ would pay for the supplies in full when he began to grumble. She visited Mistress Lithlin, the dressmaker, and placed an order for four new winter dresses, as well as coat and breeches for Lya. She couldn't be sure if the woman would appreciate the change of style, but if what she had planned was successful, well, she'd just have to get used to it.

 

She took a light meal of stewed goat, soft cheese and brambleberries. Without tasks to attend to, her thoughts crept up on her. The failure of the previous evening loomed over her, threatening to swoop down and take her into its embrace, just like the Draghkar.

 

Even thoughts of failure were but a distraction. She had diverged steadily outward over the course of the morning, drifting ever further away from the sisters' hall. Lya remained within, no doubt distraught and alone. She hissed in frustration, trying to muster the courage to face what she knew she had to attempt.

 

The sun had fallen behind the treetops to the west by the time she returned to the hall. Her resolve was on a knife edge, and so she scuttled quickly up to the room she shared with Lya. The woman's despondent eyes fixed upon her; if Berta was expecting the rough side of Lya's tongue, it was more jarring to find herself on the end of indifference.

 

She perched on the edge of the woman's bed, picking at fingernails. 'Lya, I have something which may remedy your... situation.'

 

'And what is my situation? What is your remedy? All the stew I can eat and an inability to look me in the eye? When you can even bear to be in the same room, that is.'

 

Berta flinched at the retort. 'No, it's something I've been working on. Well, more of an experiment really.' She paused and made herself look at her friend. 'There is risk. The gravest risk there can be. Do you trust me, Lya? I won't attempt this without your trust.'

 

'You tell me nothing of what you intend.'

 

Berta nodded. She hadn't told anyone of her explorations. 'Very well. There is a weave I've been working on. It _links_ a channeller to someone else, binds their souls together, if it works.'

 

Lya looked at the floor. 'I do not know if I can bear to be touched with... with _saidar_ , Berta. I just do not know if I can do it.' Tears traced familiar paths down her friend's face. 'It hurts so much,' she sobbed.

 

She took Lya's hands in her own. 'It will be fleeting.' She took a deep breath before she fully implicated herself. 'My attempts thus far have ended in failure. And by failure, I mean death.' At a curious look from Lya, she continued, the words tumbling out. 'I took soldiers and Aiel away under the pretence of healing. Only those the other sisters thought beyond help, you understand. I tried to bond them so they might draw on my essence, for want of a better explanation.'

 

'But you failed.'

 

'Yes, the weave walks the line between life and death, and Spirit is not my strength. But, the last time I tried, I believe I was very close to succeeding.'

 

'Does anyone know?'

 

Berta shook her head, and found her hands were trembling. She could be cast out of the _ajah_ for such a flagrant abuse of convention. A long moment passed with the two women staring at each other. 'I trust you,' Lya eventually whispered.

 

She squeezed Lya's hands. 'Good. I can't say why, but I think that may help. Lie back.' Her hands continued to tremble as she placed them at Lya's forehead and solar plexus.

 

Lya peered up at her. 'I said I trust you.'

 

'I know. I'm not sure I trust myself.' She looked down upon her friend and closed her eyes, opening herself to the True Source. As it rushed into her, she wove tendrils of Spirit and attached them to something inside herself, something indeterminate, which was there and yet was not.

 

She fixed those tendrils in place and locked gazes with Lya. 'Tell me about yourself, Lya. What you were before we met.'

 

It was a taboo subject which had caused friction on the few occasions it had been broached. The only clue Berta had about Lya's past was a suspicion that she knew how to use the knives she carried. She had grown to respect her friend's right to privacy; she knew better than most that everyone had a past. In this moment, however, she needed as much of the other woman's being as possible. 'Trust me.'

 

A whimper squeaked from the woman, her lips pursing as she shook her head.

 

Berta pushed. ' _Trust me_ ,' she repeated as she let the tendrils of the One Power quest towards Lya.

 

The tremble of her hands was mirrored by the shaking in Lya's chest as something broke loose. 'I was a killer. A hired knife.' Berta stared, and then softened her gaze, nodding for Lya to continue. The woman squirmed, possibly in shame, in revulsion at her own self. 'I never knew my parents. Lost to the sea, they said.'

 

'They?'

 

'The ones who raised me. They took in orphans and trained them in various ways. I showed a talent for knife fighting and by sixteen, they were hiring me out to people with enough coin to make certain problems go away.'

 

Berta grunted, and let the tendrils of Spirit delve into Lya. Her eyes widened as she felt a throbbing wound in the woman's being, a chasm which once was whole, now lay utterly in ruin. She couldn't fix that. No-one could. She steeled herself and met Lya's eyes once more. 'Carry on,' she breathed, directing her flows deeper, searching for the counterpoints to where she had attached the threads to her own essence.

 

'There was one night... I was given an assignment, a merchant had fallen foul of the people I worked for. I went in and I opened his throat. It was as nothing; it was what I knew. But on my way out... there was a child, Berta. Do you understand?'

 

The weaves faltered, and Berta fought for control, knowing that fighting was futile. They eluded her grasping mind, writhing like branches in a storm. Exhaling, she stilled her mind, opening herself to allow the flows to come back to her, pushing Lya's question from her mind, emptying herself of all thought before she resumed her questing.

 

'That was the night I discovered many truths about myself,' Lya went on. 'I returned to the orphanage with fire in my heart, Berta, and something erupted in me, and then _from_ me. I burned the whole thing to the ground with that fire. And then I ran, Berta. I would have run all the way to Shayol Ghul if Mitsora hadn't stopped me.'

 

As Lya laid her pained history out, something inside the woman solidified. Fear, hope, love and loathing coalesced before her like a puzzle. She attached the tendrils to the touch points and felt something slam into place with a sense of _rightness_.

 

Berta sat down with a thump as Lya's emotions rushed into her consciousness. Caution, surprise, and an overwhelming sense of loss beat against her. She squeezed her eyes shut and clawed at the floor boards as she felt hope well up in the other woman.

 

'How do you feel?' she breathed, before laughing at her own question, euphoria and relief washing over her at having navigated the situation. I mean...'

 

Lya nodded, wiping her eyes as she sat up. 'I know.' She reached for her knives and twirled them in her hands with a flourish. 'I believe I just found a new purpose for these, and for myself.'

 

Berta knew Lya was presenting a facade of bravery, but she let it lie, only happy to have something which resembled the old Lya again. She took the woman's hands in hers once more. 'Welcome back, my battle sister.'


	7. Stedding Sherandu

CHAPTER 7 - STEDDING SHERANDU

 

Berta used the butt of her belt knife to break the frozen layer riming the pan of water she'd collected from the stream the previous night. Her breath plumed in the dawn air as the eastern sky blossomed into pink and ochre hues. The shadow cast by the mountains continued its laboured recession, ground frost yielding to a silken dew which painted the land with an ethereal gloss.

 

Ordinarily, she would have simply channelled the ice away. Under the watchful gaze of Mitsora Caal, however, such luxuries were in absentia. The rigour of self-discipline was imperative to warding against the seductive lure of _saidar,_ apparently. With Lya's folly sharp in everyone's mind, it wouldn't do to take liberties right under the nose of the Captain-General. Still, she was thirsty and in need of her morning tea.

 

Mitsora had, mercifully, channelled last night's coals back to life, the embers glowing a welcome orange. Berta wondered if she caught the quirk of a smile at the corner of the woman's mouth as she dropped herbs into the pan from the pouch at her waist.

 

They were a day's travel south of Palardell. Ahead of them lay the journey to the shadow of Dragonmount, to meet with Elisane Tishar and her so-called Aes Sedai. Berta was still unsure of Mitsora's apparent compliance with the edict from this Elisane woman, but then, there was clearly a history between the two that Berta wasn't aware of.

 

'Am I really so viperous, girl?' At Berta's startled look, Mitsora continued. 'I can almost hear your thoughts rattling around your skull. Ask your questions. I won't bite.'

 

Berta wasn't entirely convinced of the Captain-General's assurances, but curiosity won through. 'I was musing on our meeting with Elisane Tishar. Will we really bend the knee?'

 

Mitsora drew herself up even straighter, if such a thing was possible. 'Bend the knee? Light, girl, do you know me so little? I won't bend the knee to that woman even if she threatens to pull Dragonmount down atop me.' Those perceptive grey eyes fixed on Berta, as they were wont to do when Mitsora said anything of real import. 'But let us not make music while the wolf stalks the flock. We need help, girl. If I wasn't quite convinced before, I am left with little choice after the most recent attack.'

 

Berta felt the sting of failure once again, and began to stir the tea with more vigour than was necessary.

 

'Spare me your self-flagellation, girl. We lost people, people who were dear to us. Mourn them, but do not wallow in your own pity. Maybe you made mistakes, maybe the situation meant our losses were inevitable. The command was yours because you were right for it.'

 

'How can you be so callous about our sisters dying?' Berta wanted the words back the moment she uttered them. Her anger had been on a loose leash this past week, even if most of it had been directed inwards.

 

Mitsora's penetrating gaze settled on her, needling into her until the older woman seemed satisfied the lesson had been learned. Steam from the boiling tea clouded the air between them; at the merest nod from Mitsora, Berta went about administering the brew.

 

'Now, back to more pertinent matters,' Mitsora went on. 'Elisane will drive a hard bargain, and I'm as loathe as anyone to adopt the name of the Aes Sedai. But it's not only us that needs help; the _world_ needs help. If the Shadow can muster the numbers we saw, it's a matter of time before Palardell is overrun. We're good, girl, but we're human, and we can't do it by ourselves.'

 

'We need to build,' Berta replied, remembering her conversation with Master Gamorri before the encounter with the Trollocs. 'But how? We barely tread water as it is.'

 

'The people need a cause. They need to believe they can create a home, something enduring. They need something, or someone, to rally behind.'

 

'Yaltran Gamorri.'

 

'You see it in him, too. Thank the Light my teachings are not completely without success.'

 

'Well yes, but he's still a farmer.'

 

Mitsora smiled. 'Farmers are quite capable of greatness.' She then cast her gaze south and west. 'It should be around here somewhere. Come along, girl, let us make haste. And along the way, you can tell me what you did to Lya.'

 

Berta looked at her askance, and Mitsora arched an eyebrow. 'Girl, I have eyes and ears like a grainhouse rat. I don't miss much.'

 

***

 

They plotted a course south by south west, navigating through valleys which sprouted stands of leatherleaf, hawthorn and, in some places, redpine. Old trees that appeared to reach for the sky, grabbing at low clouds with their topmost branches. Cloud had rolled in down the slopes of the spine of the world, pattering the land with a drizzle every bit as persistent as the woman at Berta's side.

 

She'd left nothing out when explaining what she'd done to Lya. Nothing apart from the failed experimentations which had hastened dying men to their deaths. It could be argued as a mercy; indeed Mitsora of all people may have seen it as such, but there was no use in looping the noose around one's own neck. Lya's recovery had been remarkable, not only in spirit, but physically also. Her rekindled affinity for knife fighting had surprised even the hardiest of the militiamen, and the woman had admitted feeling a new-found speed and strength which she couldn't account for from her former life.

 

The Captain-General had been pensive ever since, doubtless mulling over the possibilities of what Berta had told her. As they walked the horses down a wooded slope, she seemed to come to some decision. 'You will teach the sisters this new weave, I think.' She held up her hand to halt Berta's protests. 'I understand the risks, girl. I should admonish you for your callousness; you may well have killed Lya and yourself. Yet I can not deny the potential of this weave, if even the half of what you suspect is true. It is a necessary risk, you understand.'

 

Berta nodded, telling herself that she was _not_ being sullen, when she yelped in surprise. _Something_ had just happened, but she couldn't place it. There was a strange feeling of loss, like she wasn't quite whole. She stood frozen in place, trembling, as she realised she could no longer sense _saidar._ Was this a side-effect of the weave she'd placed on Lya? She could feel the woman to the north, a distant knot in a tucked-away compartment of her mind.

 

'Mitsora, it's gone,' she gasped.

 

The Captain-General shuddered, her face twisting in distaste. 'Yes, girl. It means we've arrived.'

 

'Arrived?' Berta couldn't bring herself to take another step. Indeed, she took a few steps backwards and felt the blessed comfort of the One Power flood into her. She simply held it for a time, releasing it again at a derisive snort from Mitsora.

 

'Fool girl,' the older woman chided, walking her horse onwards. 'We're in a _stedding_ , girl. We've come to seek the aid of the Ogier. Whether and when they will give it, however, is another matter entirely.'

 

Berta took a deep breath and held it, as though she were diving into a pool from precipitous ledge, closing her eyes as she plunged into the bottomless depths of the _stedding_. The loss wasn't as sharp when she was expecting it, but she still felt less than whole. She was certainly glad of the solid presence that was Lya in the corner of her mind.

 

The Ogier. She'd never seen one, of course. They'd been tucked away in their _stedding_ since soon after the Breaking. She'd heard the tales, of giants half again the size of a man with eyes that lit up a room like twin moons. The Longing had taken a dire toll on the gentle creatures, it was said, as they searched for their sanctuaries after the world was tossed and turned beneath their feet. Their sacred places were scattered as leaves on a wind, sunk to the bottom of oceans, or elevated to the heavens as new mountain ranges were birthed, only to be torn down again in their infancy.

 

Berta caught up to Mitsora, hoping she didn't appear quite as flustered as she felt. 'Captain-General, why have we entered a _stedding_? What business have we with the Ogier?'

 

'Did you know the Ogier are skilled stonemasons?'

 

Berta blew out her cheeks. How could she be expected to know such a thing. 'No, Captain-General, I wasn't aware.' The woman's knowledge had a way of corralling Berta's own inadequacies and slapping her about the face with them. 'You'd have them fortify Palardell?'

 

'No such thing, girl,' Mitsora replied, apparently unable to keep the scorn from her voice, as though Berta was being dim-witted. 'I mean them to build something that will make Palardell look like a flimsy outpost. I mean them to build us a city.'

 

Berta recalled her conversation with Master Gammori, and she dared to hope it would work. 'But, how could we ever hope to pay for an entire city? The Ogier wouldn't work for free, would they?'

 

Mitsora flashed one of her mirthless smiles. 'Now, do you see, girl? There may be certain benefits to assimilating into Elisane Tishar's Aes Sedai.'

 

The wild land became somehow tamed as they entered deeper into the _stedding_. They followed a stone path that appeared to have been shaped from the very land, rather than being deliberately placed. They approached a dense thicket of trees that were impossibly tall; Berta had never seen their like before, she was sure. She was so preoccupied with craning her neck upwards towards the canopy that she failed to notice the three figures standing at the entrance to the thicket. She gave a start when she was just twenty paces away, feeling her face flush at her lack of manners.

 

The three adopted the same stance; straight-backed, with their hands folded in front of them at their waists. Unblinking white globes regarded her and Mitsora from wizened faces, long, wispy eyebrows trailing down their cheeks. Tufted ears poked through masses of grey and white hair, twitching in what Berta perceived as a mix of intrigue and caution.

 

The Ogier - for this was surely what they were - at the centre spread his arms in welcome, his voluminous sleeves hanging loose. 'Mitsora Caal. It is long, by the measure of human years, since our paths last crossed. Of course, we haven't forgotten our last encounter. Welcome to _Stedding_ Sherandu.'

 

Mitsora nodded her head in response, not sparing a look at Berta. _The mysteries surrounding the woman keep on growing. '_ Elder Jotun, I am pleased to reacquaint myself with the Ogier,' she intoned.

 

They were led deeper into the thicket. Berta stared open-mouthed at its beauty, at how everything was _of_ the land, woven together with an artistry that was astounding in its simplicity. Wildflowers of green and gold and red hinted at sculptures of natural forms; vines cavorted a verdant dance around tree branches. A faint hubbub rose, like the distant rumble of a passing herd. Berta dragged her gaze away from the flora to find dozens of curious Ogier peering at her and Mistora, clearly speculating on the purpose of their appearance. A deep cough from Elder Jotun dispersed the crowd, most of them looking at the floor, ears and eyebrows twitching in embarrassment.

 

They emerged into a clearing where myriad patterns of the sun's rays flitted across the stone floor as the canopy above swayed this way and that. A hall of earth, wood and stone stood at the far side of the clearing. It seemed to have been moulded from the very land, rather than having the appearance of being constructed. Stone _grew_ from the ground, shaped without joins or edges; wood had been coaxed into ostensibly natural forms. From the sloped roof, lush grass and flowers sprouted into a vibrant garden.

 

Elder Jotun led them within, where a low wooden platform served as a hosting area. A younger Ogier appeared to pour water infused with a variety of berry Berta couldn't place. His eyes were mostly downcast; Berta allowed herself a smile at the young Ogier's inability to fully hide his curiosity.

 

Elder Jotun had obviously noticed the same; he rumbled a low grunt. 'This is Modni son of Thyyr son of Oodun, and he is curious, even for an Ogier. Modni, once you are done here, I believe you have outstanding tasks with your writings. Master Jorgan informs me you have been somewhat distracted of late.'

 

The lad sketched a bow, worry creasing his wide features. 'Of course, Eldest.'

 

Elder Jotun shook his head, his white eyebrows floating like snowy tendrils. 'Look at him; the lad knows nothing but haste. I shall have to ask Master Jorgan to assign him extra writing duties.'

 

The female Elder voiced a mellifluous laugh. 'You are too hard on him, Eldest. You knew what it was to be young, once. I recall you were rather hasty yourself.'

 

Berta found that hard to believe. A cough from Mitsora grabbed the attention of Elders, all three working to hide their disapproval at the Captain-General's interruption. 'I fear, Elders, that I must risk your ire with regard to my own haste. Alas, events force my hand. The Shadow gathers its strength and pours from the north with a purpose and a boldness I cannot recall in all my years. If things continue along this path, humanity will be naught but flotsam in the river of the Dark.'

 

The wizened Ogier, bowed his head. Just as Berta thought he had nothing to say on the matter, he spoke. 'All things ebb and flow as part of their natural cycle, friend Mitsora. Correct me if I am mistaken, but this rise in the activity of the Shadow's forces is recent, even as you humans measure the passing of time, yes?'

 

Mitsora gave a small nod of her head. 'That is quite so, Eldest. And yet, I would not care to be as flotsam.'

 

Large, blockish teeth flashed through the white beard of Elder Jotun. 'I am led to understand you are somewhat formidable when given to anger, old friend.'

 

'Again, that is quite so, Eldest. I have given the matter extensive thought. By human standards,' Mitsora added with a wry smile. 'I have weighed up as many scenarios as I can think of, worked through the possible outcomes, permutations, contingencies and so forth. I am sure you can appreciate I do not say it lightly when I tell you this. I see very few scenarios where my sisters and I will be enough.'

 

It was a shock to hear the admission from the Captain-General. Berta could see how much it took from the woman to utter those words. Her neck strained, her jaw clenched, but the eyes held the same light of defiance as they ever did; that light would never be extinguished.

 

'What is it you would ask of the Ogier, my friend?'

 

'Protection.'

 

Elder Jotun's mouth twisted in distaste at the terse response. 'The Ogier are not a warlike people. I cannot see what we have to offer. Even if I did... we would have to discuss it of course, but I expect we would not have any inclination to lead our people down such a path. The trials of humans are grave, but they belong to humans all the same.'

 

Mitsora sighed. 'I do not ask you to take up weapons and stand at our shoulders, Eldest. Rather, I would that you afforded us the opportunity of permanence. Build for us. Your skill with stone is unsurpassed among humans. All I ask is a chance to build a society behind walls which will not falter when the Dark tide rises.'

 

Elder Jotun nodded his head in acknowledgement; once again it was an inordinate amount of time before he spoke. Berta was sure she would be driven quite mad by the end of her time in this _stedding_. 'I understand the manner of your plight. We will discuss it among the Elders. But know that the Longing took a terrible toll on the Ogier. You saw as much with your own eyes. I cannot imagine the Elders will countenance a venture back into the outside world.'

 

Mitsora met the Eldest's gaze for a long moment. 'Very well. Your _stedding_ may afford you some measure of protection from what comes, Eldest. All I ask is the opportunity to do the same. We still wander, lost. Now, I would also request passage south. You do have a Waygate at _Stedding_ Sherandu, yes?'

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Dragonmount

CHAPTER 8 - DRAGONMOUNT

 

Two days in _Stedding_ Sherandu had been enough to knead the worry out of Berta’s mind. Worry over Lya’s continued recovery without her there to support it; over the impending meeting with women who would call themselves Aes Sedai and what it might mean for the _ajah_. Worry over whether Palardell would still be standing when they returned. There was a seductive serenity about the _stedding_ , a dangerous allure that meant her concerns came as whispered honey. It was easy to see the Ogier’s reluctance to venture outside, as they put it.

The Elders had complained about the haste behind their departure, that preparations needed to be made ahead of such a journey. Nonetheless, Mitsora had managed to secure the services of Modni son of Thyyr son of Oodun as escort through The Ways.

She had been surprised to learn the Waygate was outside the _stedding_. It had been Modni who had explained that The Ways were grown with the use of _saidin_. The Ogier had given sanctuary to the male Aes Sedai doomed to go mad. The very same men had gifted the Ogier the ability to travel between s _tedding_ without having to brave the dangers of the outside world.

The Ways had defied her admittedly limited expectations. From the moment she had stumbled through a shimmering stone doorway onto a lush landing affixed to a spiralling arc which led to… _somewhere_ , she had felt like a child overcome with wonder. They were approaching the landing now that would provide their exit point to _Stedding_ Jentoine. For all Berta could tell, it could have been the very same landing as the one they departed two days previous. Not that it was easy to measure the course of day and night in the Ways. She craned her neck upwards to a sun beaming in perpetuity from behind wispy clouds. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with this sky, which became a vertiginous, interminable colourless void below her feet. That wasn’t the only thing which discomfited her; the very ground beneath her feet had been grown from the corrupt half of the One Power. The striking beauty of the arcing walkways and the islands that seemed suspended in air was in stark contrast to the destructive malevolence of tainted _saidin_. Once again a shudder rippled through her as she considered this fact.

Modni had explained that time worked differently in the Ways to that in the outside world. In the two days they had spent walking this illogical maze, Berta had been assured they would emerge hundreds of leagues south west of where they had entered.

Modni repeated his trick of removing the stone trefoil leaf from the heart of the Waygate, and the doors arced outwards. Berta was prepared this time for the distorting effect of the reflective shimmer that filled the portal, inching herself and her horse through carefully, making sure to step to the side once she was safely through. Despite being on the periphery of a _stedding_ , the outside world appeared a plain, unpretentious mirror of the zealous, bountiful growth within the Ways.

***  
  
A short time later they emerged from a cleft in the hills, and Berta was greeted with a sight that almost doubled her over like a body blow.

Dragonmount.

Even from a day’s ride distant, the mountain was a malevolent, precipitous welt on the land; belching a black smudge of simmering fury skyward, a stain on an otherwise unblemished firmament of crisp azure.

The place where three hundred years previous, Lews Therin Telamon had pulled down a sickening torrent of the One Power, laced with the corrupting taint of the Dark One. The smouldering peak in the distance was the result of that moment of insane destruction, the first such act in over two hundred years of madness which would follow. Humanity had only recently pulled itself clear of the waning embers of that ruination, a listless remnant of what it once was.

If Elisane Tishar had wanted to meet the _ajah_ in a place which would unbalance those she sought an accord with, it had worked, at least in Berta’s case. She had no doubt Mitsora would take matters in her stride, unflappable as ever. Indeed, the woman was busy addressing Modni, the latter displaying the same awestruck gaze to the east.

‘I thank you for your guidance, Master Ogier. I fear I must decline your earlier offer of hospitality within _Stedding_ Jentoine. Urgency guides our course, lest events commence without us. Our absence would not be looked upon favourably, you understand.’

The young Ogier nodded as his eyes shifted sideways. ‘I do understand, Captain-General. Elder Jotun often chastises me for my haste, but sometimes things are so obvious that there is no need for deliberation.’

Modni looked abashed at having made the admission, so Mitsora and Berta simply bade him farewell, and they made east. She felt her insides were something akin to the churning smoke emanating from Dragonmount.

***

Uncertainty and inadequacy gnawed at Berta as they crossed the rolling plain towards the looming mountain. Mitsora called an early halt, before the sun was at its highest. Berta noted she’d stopped on the highest rise in sight, though it could hardly be called a hill. ‘Do you sense danger, Captain-General?’

The woman’s stern gaze penetrated to the north. ‘Not especially. Birds are a wonderful warning system if one listens carefully enough. It might be little more than a wildcat, but I’m as sure as I can be that there is something matching our stride, concealed by the trees to the north.’ Her eyes settled on Berta and she gave a shrug. ‘So, we wait. Now, if you’ll prepare a fire, girl. The traditional way, mind. We don’t want to attract undue attention to ourselves.’

Berta groaned inwardly, but set about finding appropriate pieces of wood and something that would serve as tinder. She soon had a small fire going, and set about brewing Mitsora’s tea and roasting a rabbit she had accosted. Mitsora hadn’t taken her eyes from the forest to the north, perhaps half a league distant. A grunt from the woman brought Berta’s gaze around to see a dark-clad shape emerge from the tree line, casually walking his or her horse towards the makeshift camp.

‘I didn’t brew enough tea for three,’ Berta said sourly.

‘Then you will go without, girl.’ The Captain-General aimed a derisive look at the roasting meat. ‘You might have acquired a larger rabbit, too.’

Berta sat in sullen silence as the newcomer approached, prodding the rabbit harder than was necessary. If she wasn’t going to eat her fill, she was determined to make the experience a little more unpleasant for the elder woman. The misshapen lump of meat was unrecognisable as a rabbit by the time a woman clad in charcoal grey riding accoutrements strolled into camp ahead of her horse. Arched eyebrows climbed above deep brown eyes, painting an expression of perpetual surprise below a shock of unruly black hair.

‘We travel to the same destination, it appears,’ the woman began in a deep, flowing tone. Berta was given to the notion that this was a woman used to being obeyed. She expected to see sparks dance in the air between her and Mitsora at any moment.

‘Caraidha Skotos,’ the woman continued with a small nod of her head.

Mitsora levelled a long, penetrating look at Caraidha. Berta had been on the end of plenty of those looks; her usual reaction was wanting to channel a hole in the ground to sink into. Seemingly satisfied, Mitsora jerked a nod. ‘Mitsora Caal. This is Berta Trencine, and yes, we travel in the same direction. Please allow us to extend our hospitality to you.’ With that, she snapped a disgusted look at Berta. ‘What have you done to that rabbit, girl?’

Mitsora wasn’t in a talkative mood as they ate, though Berta knew that meant she preferred to observe, and so it was left to her to entertain their company.

‘From where do you travel, Caraidha?’

‘From the north and west,’ she replied as she took a dainty nibble of the meat. ‘In truth, I’m pleased to escape the chill. The northern winters have a bite.’

‘Do you belong to an _ajah_?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Alas, no. My companions sought ventures new when the summer set in.’ At Berta’s prying gaze, she continued with a cool smile. ‘There was a difference in opinion on our new direction.’

‘You didn’t receive the invitation to the meeting, then?’

Mischief spread across the woman’s face and she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I confess that I didn’t. The advantages of keeping an ear to the wind are many, though. From what I hear, the consequences of being absent from this meeting may be… unfortunate. I would hear what this Elisane Tishar has to say.’

Berta nodded, trying to think how Mitsora would respond, but the truth was the Captain-General was a master at misdirection, something Berta was unversed in. She felt like the woman opposite was toying with her. Any attempt to appear clever would be summarily dealt with. She wondered if Mitsora would intervene and try to recruit the woman. Assuredly not, was Berta’s conclusion. The Captain-General preferred her recruits to be malleable and hungry, she knew. Caraidha Skotos was too sure of herself by far.

‘Do you expect to join?’

The woman emitted a throaty laugh. ‘The real question, is it not, is whether we shall be allowed to walk away without some form of covenant.’

The thought had indeed occurred to Berta, which meant Mitsora had been mulling it over as well. She had no desire to voice her opinions on the matter, so the rest of the meal was taken in pensive silence.

They took a route that passed safely clear of the southern slopes of Dragonmount. The northern route would have taken them through the mountain’s shadow, and Berta was relieved to learn that neither Mitsora nor Caraidha had any appetite for such a journey. The surrounding country showed no signs of habitation, only a wild, empty plain with swaying grasses interspersed with the remnants of lava flows which had destroyed all in their path. It was little wonder no-one dared to make a life so close to the brooding peak.

It was late afternoon when they sighted a patrol approaching. Six men materialised out of the distance, white cloaks flaring as they brought their horses closer at a canter. Mitsora brought up her own horse and eyed the men. ‘Elisane, you have been busy,’ she muttered. The men rode well-shod horses, and were bedecked in supple leather armour supplemented by matching curved scabbards at their hips, ivory coloured, trimmed with silver and gold.

One of the men closed and saluted, fist to chest. ‘Honour to serve. I am Captain Marquil Ponterro. You have a letter of invitation?’

Mitsora glanced from the stern-faced Captain Ponterro to Caraidha Skotos and back again. The woman evidently had planned this all along, to secure passage under the guise of alliance with someone else. Well, the woman could channel. That alone was enough to convince Berta the woman was deserving of a place at the meeting. Mitsora presented the letter, which elicited a scowling nod from the Captain. ‘If you will follow me.’

Berta’s eyes widened as the Captain turned. Sewn into his cloak was a circle of white and black, divided by a sinuous line. The symbol of the Aes Sedai. Elisane Tishar had indeed grown bold. Mitsora looked ready to tear the cloaks from the back of the soldiers, while Berta couldn’t decide if Caraidha’s smile carried genuine amusement, or a hint of contempt.

It was close to dusk when they arrived at the camp, if indeed it could be called a camp. Rows and rows of tents had been erected in an orderly pattern; the grasses of the plain had been worn down to nothing along the various thoroughfares, suggesting an air of semi-permanence about the place. Soldiers busied themselves, running errands or escorting other women, but it soon became obvious that there was a veritable army of camp followers. Berta saw women mending cloth and armour, others preparing food, and she thought she could hear the distinctive ring of a smithy. The canvas town was every bit as bustling as Palardell; at first glance, she thought it might house more people than the town the _ajah_ called home.

Captain Ponterro showed them to the north edge of the camp, where fresh tents had been recently requisitioned. From this vantage point they could see the island dividing the flow of the River Erinin, hear the rumbling rush of the great river as it ploughed its way south. ‘You will be comfortable here,’ the gruff man informed them, as though there was no possibility he might be mistaken in his assertion. ‘Food will be brought to your tent, though you may choose to take your meals at one of the kitchen tents. Latrines are by the river.’

Berta was glad to be rid of the man and his sour mood. After stabling the horses, she made her way back to the tents. A woman bustled along in the opposite direction, carrying a huge bundle of linen sheeting. Berta was surprised to sense the other woman could channel. ‘Excuse me,’ she began, and had to plant herself in the way of the woman to bring her to a halt; now she was closer, she had the appearance of having once been plump, a slight sag of the skin around her cheeks and her neck. The woman looked terrified, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Might you know where I could find a bath house? I’ve been in the saddle for days.’

The woman merely shook her head. ‘None of my business. Now, if you please, I have sewing and mending to attend to.’

Frustration welled in Berta, but she sensed there was more to this woman than met the eye. ‘Your name?’

‘My name isn’t important.’

‘You can channel the One Power, yes? Is this some sort of penance?’

The woman snorted a mirthless laugh. ‘You could call it a penance. I mend cloth and drink tea and not a lot else.’

‘You drink tea?’

‘To stop me from touching the True Source. I shouldn’t be talking to you; they told me not to talk to the newcomers.’ The woman shifted from foot-to-foot like a manic bird.

‘What did you do?’

The woman pushed past, almost knocking Berta to the ground. When she was clear, she looked over her shoulder, visibly quivering in what little light remained. ‘My name is Dashelle Kandillar, and I tried to run.’

 

 

 


	9. An Accord

CHAPTER 9 - AN ACCORD

 

Berta had spent five maddening days… waiting. The camp had continued to swell during that time, to the point that it was now crowding the dizzying cliff-sided banks of the Erinin, the only reprieve being a semi-circular swathe of clear ground arcing outwards from the latrine pits. They had yet to meet Elisane Tishar, the woman insisting on allowing more time for the arrival of all who would attend before opening even informal conversation.

The decree had only served to fuel further speculation over the details of her intentions. Unification was her goal, but how would she achieve it? What concessions would be made? Would the _ajah_ be granted the autonomy they would surely demand?

Berta had been unsurprised to learn Mitsora was well-known among the women in the camp. There had been visitors, heads of other _ajah_ determined to glean what they might of Mitsora’s disposition towards the impending meeting. Nemaira Eldros, from an _ajah_ which purported to create weapons using the One Power; Saraline Amerano, who insisted that the way had to be paved for the Dragon Reborn, and wanted to interrogate Mitsora regarding a relic called the Eye of the World. Perhaps most interesting was Lideine Rajan, who seemed intent on subverting Elisane’s intentions, no matter how surreptitious she thought she may have been.

Berta found the whole thing exhausting and tedious, but then Mitsora had lectured her on the importance of covering all angles. The political dance was akin to that of battle, apparently. Berta had once again grudgingly admitted the Captain-General had the right of things, which had in turn exposed just how much Berta had left to learn in living up to the impossible task of leadership.

She was taking breakfast – a pleasantly surprising fare of freshly-baked bread, with cured meats and a soft cheese containing a swirl of spice – in a kitchen tent which had been close to the north edge of the camp mere days ago, but was now closer to the centre. She’d taken to savouring her morning solitude; a chance to catch up on the previous days’ events, deliberately picking her way through the machinations and permutations of what Mitsora and the others had discussed.

Her privacy was compromised as a woman with a regal air took a place opposite her. The way she tilted her head just so meant she was forced to look down her nose at Berta. An insipid smile painted her face. ‘You are the companion of Mitsora Caal.’

‘Berta Trencine. How can I help you?’

‘Mabriam en Shereed,’ the woman intoned around a cool smile. ‘You come from the north, yes? I am… of the north. I was hoping for nothing more than any news you may carry. It has been too long since I was in that part of the world.’

Berta shrugged. ‘Then you’ll know there isn’t much to tell. Trollocs and Myrddraal keep us occupied, the men split their time between farming and fighting, and our walls are better suited to keeping people in that keeping Trollocs out. But we fight nonetheless. We’ll fight until we win, or we perish.’

Mabriam arched a pensive eyebrow. ‘You do not sound as though you believe victory is possible.’

‘We are a barrier, Mistress en Shereed. Nothing more. We hold, for the most part, and we repel. Would that we could march into the Blasted Lands and revisit upon the Trollocs the carnage they deliver unto us. We lost two sisters only recently to the largest Trolloc force I’ve seen.’ Berta couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice as she recalled that sweeping tide washing over those under her command. She sipped her tea to calm herself. ‘Might I ask your business at this gathering, Mabriam?’

‘Mabriam Sedai,’ the woman corrected, a knowing smile crossing her handsome features as she revealed her allegiance. ‘I hear your plight, Berta, and I do so hope we will consider ourselves sisters after Elisane Tishar has delivered her proposal.’ Her features remained smooth as she told Berta of her supposedly sincere hope. Berta found it hard to believe that sincerity; it was difficult to imagine thinking of this woman as a sister in the same way as those of the _ajah_.

‘I am pleased, Mabriam.’ Berta put as much heat into her reply as she dared, deliberately omitting the honorific. She wouldn’t believe any of the women at this gathering Aes Sedai until it was irrefutably true; the prospect of naming herself Berta Sedai filled her with icy dread.

The woman appeared amused at Berta’s belligerence. She felt woefully unprepared for this politicking and the subtle games and meanings behind every uttered word. She was envious of Mabriam’s control, the façade of serenity she presented to the world. Knowing she was incapable of mirroring that façade, she felt she was ripe for manipulation every time she opened her mouth. Caraidha Skotos had made her feel the same way; she was a clumsy, quarrelsome bull in a pit of smiling, conniving snakes.

‘I will take my leave of you, Berta Trencine.’ She rose, leaving Berta to her second-guessing. She merely nodded in response, before watching the woman depart. She felt like Mabriam had been sent to reconnoitre the enemy, and Berta had written down and explained her battle plans with nary a grumble. Soon, steel would be bared, and Berta’s blades were all blunted.

***

After breaking her fast, Berta made her way to the latrines, holding a scented kerchief to her nose as she approached. Wooden walkways had, mercifully, been installed, host to steady flow of people moving back and forth. Men who had the look of soldiers joking and clapping one another on the back; women in quiet conversation, either gossiping about events past or speculating upon events to come.

Being a creature of habit, Berta walked to her usual latrine along the northernmost row, second from the left. To her annoyance, it was occupied, so she stood with her hood covering her face, breath misting in the crisp morning air. Minutes passed and she knocked at the door. Receiving no response, she lifted the latch with a thin flow of air and pulled the door open.

She staggered backwards as she was greeted by the unblinking stare of a young woman with blood still dripping from nose and mouth. Recovering her senses, she felt the woman’s cheeks. Still warm. She embraced saidar and spun in a careful circle, scanning her surroundings for anything untoward. Content that there was no immediate danger, she released the True Source and leaned against the wall of the claustrophobic latrine stall to consider her options. She would be suspected no matter if she called for help or if she simply walked away. She grunted as if struck in the stomach. Had she been framed? Had someone been watching her habits and planted the body here?

Feeling dizzy, she stepped out into the air and felt the shield slam into place. Mabriam en Shereed stood five paces away. ‘Ah, it’s you. As I feared.’

Berta thought to run, or at least try. She would be wrapped in flows of air within two paces. She leaned against the stall and looked to the sky. _Mitsora, where are you?_

***

Berta found herself in a holding tent with four other women who had reported finding bodies of dead women. All appeared to have been killed in the same manner; a woman from an _ajah_ specialising in healing had inspected the bodies and surmised they had been killed by quickly increasing the pressure in the lungs. Berta agreed it was a horrific way to die, even if it had been fast. She had never met any of her fellow detainees, though some of the thirty women present didn’t seem convinced. She’d been allowed to speak to Mitsora briefly; the Captain-General had been gravely concerned, and had reminded her that now was not the time for any hotheadness. She had then exited the tent with a face like a thunderhead, vowing to speak to Elisane Tishar in person.

Mabriam en Shereed still held her shield in place. She had come to learn that the regal woman was almost entirely dispassionate, at least in matters of justice. She had simply informed Berta that the evidence would be collected and weighed and a decision would be made. Berta had thought Mabriam was trying to provide reassurance, though it hadn’t hit the mark.

She had been questioned at length by Mabriam, who had given nothing away in terms of her reading of the situation. She had also been questioned by a nameless hook-nosed man who would have been intimidating to most women, but Berta had faced much, much worse. She had merely repeated her version of events while trying to swallow her frustration.

A hush fell over the tent and a tall, fire-haired woman in her middle years entered. Green eyes blazed like emeralds in the sun as her gaze swept across the five accused. Berta had faced down a Myrddraal only recently, yet she flinched as judgemental viridescent orbs took her measure in a heartbeat before moving onto the next unsuspecting woman. And I thought Mitsora had no peer.

Berta watched as Elisane Tishar paced up and down in front of the five. Mitsora had called her formidable, but Berta hadn’t really believed it; once again, the Captain-General was correct. The red-haired woman exuded presence and authority, and she let the weight of that presence push down on each of the five accused in turn, like bugs beneath a boot.

The woman at the far end of the line broke under that stare, falling to her knees before breaking into a shaking sob. ‘I didn’t hurt anyone, Mistress Tishar. I just…’

The glow of _saidar_ winked into view around Elisane, and Berta gasped as the flows of air jerked the sobbing girl upright before she was bound so tight she could barely breathe. Elisane sauntered across to the girl, sneering her digust. ‘Elisane Sedai, you foolish wretch! You present me with quite the conundrum, girl. I _will_ unite all women who can touch the True Source. However, I will also have women of such fortitude that none will dare to cross the Aes Sedai. Do you understand me, girl? If you break so easily, what use do I have for you?’

The girl merely increased her sobbing. Elisane spat something Berta didn’t catch, before walking along the rest of the line. She settled in front of Berta and eyed her up and down with a cool smile. ‘You must be one of Mitsora’s little projects.’ Berta refused to be riled by the woman, but drew herself up and forced herself to meet the woman’s imperious gaze. ‘What of you? Are you little more than a sapling, bending and bowing in the faintest of breezes?’

Fire welled up in Berta, and she longed to embrace the source and teach this woman a lesson in respect. She glanced over Elisane’s shoulder and saw Mabriam. The woman was impossible to read, her face as serene as a black pool on a still winter’s day; icy and depthless. She took a deep breath and suppressed the heat which yearned for an escape. With a dead stare, she leaned towards the fire-haired woman. ‘I told your minions my story already; to repeat it a third time would be quite… unsatisfactory.’ Despite her best efforts, one side of her mouth crept up into a smirk.

Elisane tossed her head back in response and barked a laugh, clapping her hands together. ‘Oh you are just perfect! One of Mitsora’s for sure.’

She wheeled and stepped back into the centre of the tent, arms spread wide. ‘I have been assured that your stories corroborate, and I sense no malevolence within any of you. However, we are currently without a perpetrator. Until such time as one is identified, the five of you remain under suspicion as co-conspirators. The Light willing, the situation will be ratified one way or another. For now, you may return to your _ajah_ , but know this: I will not see this alliance subverted by any means. Go.’

With the final warning ringing in Berta’s ears, she watched the flame-haired woman stomp out of the tent with a trail of women cawing to gain her ear. She silenced them all with a look. It was difficult to not admire the woman’s… capability.

***

Berta shook off the effects of her dreams by dousing her face with the icy water left outside her tent. She had been allowed to return late in the night following a third questioning, and she was now groggy and hungry. She looked to the east, where night did its best to smother the murk of the dawn. To the west, Dragonmount was a shadowed dagger sheathed in hidden cloud.

Mitsora ducked out of her own tent, hands on hips. She appeared ready, as ever, to do battle with the day, as though she could rebuff the sun’s attempts to rise if she so wished. She ran an appraising eye over Berta. ‘If you’re going to break your fast, girl, do it quickly. Our presence is required before Elisane Tishar within the hour.’

‘The meeting is today?’

‘You know my outlook on repeating myself, girl.’

‘But…’

‘The spate of killings yesterday has expedited matters. Now, see to your morning routine. And perhaps seek out company for your visit to the latrines.’

‘Well…’

‘Not me, girl.’

Berta let out a resigned sigh, before turning back into her tent to dress herself. She was soon cramming figs and cheese into her mouth like one of the more raucous soldiers she’d observed at the kitchen tents. Gulping down the last of her tea, she pushed some of the figs into her belt pouch to eat on the way back to Mitsora.

The Captain-General was pacing back and forth in front of her tent, like a caged wildcat. Reluctantly, Berta stepped into her sights, waiting to be the subject of the woman’s unfathomable ire. ‘Captain-General, I understand this isn’t the sort of battle we’re used to fighting, but I know you’ll do right by our sisters.’ She tried to give a reassuring smile.

‘When I want your opinion, girl, I’ll give it to you. Now come, let us take the measure of our would-be allies.’

Once the Captain-General was a safe distance in front, Berta looked up to the sky, barely lighter than at dawn. The first, fat droplets of rain spattered against her face.

***

The camp was eerily quiet as they approached the allotted meeting point, as though the whole place was holding its breath in anticipation. The only sign of movement was women of other _ajah_ walking towards the same destination, all sure to maintain a safe distance from one another.

Berta’s jaw fell open as they broke clear of the tents.

A row of fifty women sat in an arc facing them. Behind them, on an elevated platform, fifty more. In total, three hundred women sat in an ever rising fan of cool faces with hands in laps. All staring mocking serenity at the comparatively ragtag collection of women emerging from gaps in the tents. At the centre, her shock of red hair flapping in the wind, sat the unmistakeable figure of Elisane Tishar, watching on with a knowing curve of her lips. Behind them, Dragonmount, rearing into the sky, its menacing slopes swallowed by the heavens.

Berta glanced to her left, saw Mitsora’s eyes narrow. The Captain-General hadn’t anticipated this. The glow of _saidar_ surrounded Elisane, allowing her voice to carry on the wind.

‘Welcome, women, to what I hope will be an alliance to last an Age, and beyond. I would humbly ask for your silence; all shall be afforded the opportunity to discuss matters once I have laid out my plans.

‘Look to the north. To the island which rests in the shadow of Dragonmount come dusk. What better place, I ask, to build a seat of power? To guide humanity in the ways of the Light. My _ajah_ has travelled the new world. We have seen squallor, we have seen petty squabbles over trifling amounts of land. We have seen the people cower beneath the threat of maddened male channellers, and we have seen the fear and mistrust in their eyes even as we deliver them from this threat. This last, I _will_ not tolerate. Not from a world that stumbles blindly towards its own demise because it can not, or will not, stand on its own two feet.

‘You all know of what I speak. Tainted _saidin_ has tainted the people’s trust in the True Source. Is it any wonder? We women are scattered, afraid to adopt our rightful titles as Aes Sedai, for fear we might be killed in our sleep. No longer.’ She stood, throwing her arms wide. ‘I am Elisane Tishar and I _am_ Aes Sedai!’

She sat, her voice growing quiet as she laid out her challenge to the gathered women. ‘I would invite you all to join me.’ Opening her hand, something small and golden floated in front of the woman’s face. Berta couldn’t discern its detail at a distance of fifty paces. ‘This, I am informed, is a quite precious relic. The ring worn by Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, a serpent eating its own tail, a symbol of eternity and of time itself. Will you women gathered before me heed the message borne by this ring? Do we not have an obligation to carry the name of Aes Sedai into time eternal?'

Mitsora scoffed at that, albeit under her breath. Berta was inclined to agree; Elisane was nothing if not full of self-importance. Yet women listened as she went on.

‘I know each of the _ajah_ before me has its own goals, its own purpose. I do not seek to deflect you from your cause. However, a unified set of _ajah_ should mean a unified set of goals. There will be a council whereby agreement among the _ajah_ heads will be sought to determine these goals.’

She bowed her head and released the True Source. The women arrayed before her, maybe one hundred in number, were stunned into pensive silence. A dumpy woman with a tangle of black curls and a sneering mouth walked forward. ‘Your terms are acceptable in principle, Elisane Tishar. Of course, I require assurances and I will put these to you in due course. I do not love the notion of being named Aes Sedai; it was the male Aes Sedai who broke the world and my women hunt them still. Becoming their namesakes assuredly harms our… credibility. Nonetheless, I will convey your terms to my women.’

Elisane kept a cool voice. ‘Your cause is a just and worthy one, Mistress Fanway. I would be heartened to name you Karella Sedai.’

Berta thought she detected a small harrumph from the rotund woman. ‘With all respect, Elisane, I do not require your countenance to name myself so.’

A woman named Azille Narof quickly hopped into the breach. ‘I can see the worth in your proposal, Mistress Tishar. We would of course require autonomy to continue to seek out what the Breaking took from us. Acquiring further knowledge from the women gathered here today is a prospect my _ajah_ somewhat relishes. A central repository of this knowledge and a sense of permanence is a welcome thought.’

One of the women closest to Berta rolled her eyes before speaking. She recognised the woman as Saraline Amerano, who had been to visit Mitsora a few nights previous. ‘Let us discuss less trivial matters. Like all gathered here, I can see the worth in what you propose. What concerns me is what you do not say. I can quite easily envisage a situation where the goals of my _ajah_ do not align with that of, say, that of Karella Fanway.’ The cool look which passed between the two women suggested a rekindling of an old argument. ‘We seek to pave the way for a man who can channel, after all. I hope I do not need to press upon you the importance of this task. While I could use the knowledge of Azille Narof and her _ajah_ , I must ask this: What if we choose to take a different direction? What if we choose to leave your order of Aes Sedai?’

A long moment of silence passed as Elisane’s jade stare bored into the defiant gaze of Saraline. ‘I would forbid it,’ the flame-haired woman finally said. ‘In fact, I will go further, Mistress Amerano. I would unite all women between the Spine of the World and the Aryth Ocean under the banner of the Aes Sedai, and I hope, beyond. It was once thus and it will be once more.’

Saraline did an admirable job of containing her anger and her fear, but Berta was close enough to hear the panicked whispers of the woman’s companions, to see the rise and fall of her chest as she sucked in deep, rapid breaths. The threat in Elisane Tishar’s words was thinly veiled.

A beak-nosed, blonde-haired woman with large brown eyes stepped forward until she was merely five paces from Elisane Tishar, her profile giving her a hawkish appearance. Lideine Rajan smiled and the nimbus of light rose around her as she let _saidar_ flow into her. Elisane rose, her face a mask of calm, her fiery hair a penumbra of wild fury. Berta swallowed as Elisane also opened herself to the One Power; she had been close enough to both women to know they were strong in the Power; Berta wasn’t sure there was any difference between them. Four hundred women held their collective breath, and Berta saw the light of _saidar_ enveloping more and more women. Within seconds, almost all held the Power, ready.

‘It is as I suspected,’ Lideine began, using the same trick to let her voice carry. ‘It is, as it ever was, all about you, isn’t it, Elisane _Sedai_?’ Berta waited for the dissolution of Elisane’s restraint as Lideine goaded her.

‘I suppose you are the woman to lead this alliance of the _ajah_ , these… _Aes Sedai_?’ the blonde woman continued.

‘Decisions will be taken by a council of _ajah_ heads. I believe I made that clear.’

Lideine leaned forward into the heavy rain. ‘Yet it is _you_ who will not tolerate revulsion among the masses. It is _you_ who name yourself Aes Sedai, Servant of All. You only serve yourself, Elisane. It is _you_ who would deny these women their liberty should their goals differ from yours. How would you do such a thing, Elisane Sedai? Imprison them? Kill them? Worse?’

Mitsora looked at the floor and sighed as Elisane rose to the bait. ‘Rogue Aes Sedai will not be permitted,’ she spat. ‘With more than one faction, we have no improvement on today’s situation. Have no concern that I will do what is necessary.’

‘You would incite war between rival factions of channellers? Is the world not broken enough? I wasn’t aware that _saidar_ was also tainted, for you are surely insane.’

Elisane stepped to within a pace of her adversary. ‘I have three hundred women at my back, to your thirty. It would be a short war.’

Mitsora turned to Berta, her mouth turned down in distaste. The Captain-General looked weary for the first time Berta could recall. ‘Pay attention, girl. This may the most important thing I ever say to you: It is more important to know when to fight than to know _how_ to fight. The corollary being that it is also important to know when _not_ to fight. Now…’

Berta watched Mitsora take three steps forward. She didn’t embrace _saidar_ , merely raising her voice to be heard over the sodden patter of rain. ‘I will swear!’ All faces turned to the Captain-General as she continued to walk into the centre of the gathering. ‘Elisane Tishar, you have committed atrocities by the measure of any who follow the Light.’ The fire-haired woman drew herself up to respond, but Mitsora pressed on. ‘Did you really think you could hide the girl from me, Elisane? She told me everything; what your followers did near the Mountains of Mist.

‘Lideine Rajan is not without fault.’ She spared a withering look for the woman in question before addressing Elisane once more. ‘However, I will not be implicit in bloodshed or worse on this day. This will not be a smooth road, Elisane, of that there is no doubt. But Lideine walks away from this meeting today or her thirty becomes thirty-two. Do we have an accord?’ With that, she clasped her hand around Elisane Tishar’s forearm.

Elisane stood still for a long moment, unable to keep the snarl from her voice. ‘Do you really think your little battle _ajah_ can make a difference to the outcome?’

Mitsora’s face split into a familiar, dangerous grin. ‘The Battle Ajah. I will take your barb and wear it as a badge. Now, do we have an accord?’

Elisane’s hand slowly entwined around Mitsora’s arm before nodding in assent. ‘We have an accord.’

Mitsora did embrace _saidar_ , now. ‘Then I, Mitsora Caal, pledge myself to the order of the Aes Sedai, with the Light as witness. It is done.’

‘It is done, Mitsora Sedai.’

Berta was already two paces behind the Captain-General as Elisane appealed for others to come forward. She was close enough to hear Mitsora speak into Elisane’s ear. ‘They will not all come, Elisane, but you have a start. The road is long.’

 

 

 


	10. Besieged

CHAPTER 10 - BESIEGED

 

Twelve _ajah_ had pledged their allegiance to this new order of Aes Sedai. Berta looked down at her hand at the monstrosity trying to constrict the life from her finger, the serpent devouring its own tail. She was Berta _Sedai_ now, and the notion filled her with cold dread. The weight of that name pushed down on her, as though Dragonmount itself had settled atop her shoulders.

Of course, there were many _ajah_ which had not acceded to Elisane’s wishes. Some had asked for more time to consider their options; others had simply refused, sure there was some hidden motive behind Elisane Tishar’s actions. Lideine Rajan had spent some time trying to lobby support among the latter group; for the most part however, they simply weren’t interested in being allied to anyone or anything. Lideine Rajan and her companions had been given an hour to leave the camp; even Mitsora had swallowed the ultimatum and named it compromise.

Berta didn’t notice the Captain-General approaching from behind her. ‘Mooning over that ring isn’t becoming of Aes Sedai, girl. Now if you’re quite done with your reverie, you can pack your things and collect the horses.’

She sighed. There was nothing like a dose of Mitsora Caal to keep one grounded. By the time she returned, the indistinct shadow of Dragonmount was extending its grim aura steadily towards the camp. Another hour, and a dank dusk would settle in. ‘Why the haste, Captain-General?’ she asked of a distracted Mitsora.

‘We will talk of it when we’re free of the camp,’ came the terse reply. Berta went about making final preparations, before the two of them rode west towards a charcoal sky that held the promise of continued drizzle.

They were perhaps half a league clear of the camp before Berta dared give rise to her question once more. ‘Is now a good time to explain our sudden departure? I expected there would be details of the alliance which required further negotiation.’

‘What do you think I spent the afternoon doing, girl? Those women are as infuriating as that blasted man, Yaltran Gammori. They’ll never achieve anything if they continue to dance around matters seeking unanimity.’

It was a rare thing to see Mitsora attempt to impose her will upon something and be rebuffed; the woman’s frustration was palpable. If it were not for the patter of rain, Berta expected she might hear the Captain-General grinding her teeth. ‘You impressed upon them our need.’

‘Yes I did,’ Mitsora began with a sharp nod. ‘I was told the matter would be considered in due course.’ She extended her hand to examine the serpent circling her finger. ‘The alliance will be a brief one if the Aes Sedai cannot or will not defend their own.’

Berta frowned at her horse’s mane, softly illuminated by the floating ball of light guiding their way. ‘I don’t understand. If our need is so desperate, why do we not persist? Make them see the right of the situation.’

‘Because, girl, our need is more desperate than even you realise.’

‘How can that be so?’

‘I believe I know who killed those women. I believe I know where she came from, and where she goes next. I also believe she’s a day ahead of us, a fact which may have dire consequences.’

Berta had learned to trust the Captain-General’s powers of deduction, and understood the gravity of the situation. With a nod, she pushed her horse into a steady trot.

***

They arrived at _Stedding_ Jentoine before dawn had broken. As was their wont, the Elders had insisted upon a proper greeting. They were left grumbling about the hasty ways of humans as Mitsora relayed the seriousness of the situation. Mitsora had merely nodded when she learned that Caraidha Skotos had indeed been granted passage the previous night.

Modni son of Thyyr son of Oodun had been more understanding of their plight, and more accommodating of their need to travel with immediacy. They had taken brief rests as they traversed the Ways, and its eerie perpetual daytime. Berta enjoyed the inescapable restfulness of spirit which settled upon her during their time spent negotiating the dizzying yet vibrant platforms and walkways. When they emerged on the outskirts of _Stedding_ Sherandu, however, Berta felt the ache of too many days in the saddle; felt the bone-deep weariness from shortened sleep and rest periods. At least her dreams had been more placid than usual.

They had paused at the _stedding_ long enough to learn that preliminary discussion had taken place among the Elders regarding the humans’ need to build. They had thanked Modni for his actions, in a world where others were predisposed to inaction, as Mitsora had put it.

Riding through the night in undulating terrain, the two women sat their horses in silence, grim-faced and tired. It was disconcerting to see the Captain-General so dejected; even if she tried to hide it, her back wasn’t quite straight as she sat her horse. She had grown quiet, content to be alone with thoughts which Berta presumed had taken a dark edge.

Berta cleared her throat, conscious of the ebony sky exerting its intangible gloom upon the two of them. The dark walked in step with apprehension as a sultry mistress, teasing with the threat of the unknown, the only intent being to keep restfulness at bay. ‘A copper for your thoughts, Captain-General?’ she ventured, if only to get Mitsora talking. Light, she’d even take a scolding for disturbing the woman’s inner sanctum.

A grunt was her reward. ‘Myriad, as ever. And none of them good, alas. There are too many variables ahead of us for me to formulate a sound plan. The only certainty is that we are alone. While I know my choices have been made in sound judgement, the fact remains that I am absent in the hour of the _ajah’_ s greatest need.’ She glanced across at Berta, then. ‘My choices don’t always sit well with me, girl. This one least of all. But we shall do what we can, you and I. We should at least have the element of surprise.’ She sighed and frowned into the dark. ‘The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.’

‘Lya is still alive,’ Berta responded, hoping to offer some small comfort.

Mitsora nodded and smiled. ‘That is well, girl. Very well indeed.’

***

Dawn broke as they rode through forested hills on the southern approach to Palardell. The evergreens were the only trees clinging on to any semblance of green; a stark contrast to their journey through the Ways and the lush flora therein.

They had pushed the horses as much as they dared over the course of the night. The corner of her mind which belonged to Lya grew stronger as they approached the town; she could point right at her battle-sister from this distance.

As they climbed the narrow pass which would eventually open out into the southern approach to the valley which housed Palardell, something in Berta’s head began to tug at her, a gnawing sense of worry and anger. ‘Captain-General, I think we should hurry.’

Mitsora didn’t question how she knew. Instead, they pushed their horses along the switchback trail, until they crested the pass. Palardell lay below them, besieged. Thick smoke billowed from at least a dozen buildings, the plumes carried away to the north on the wind. Berta’s eyes widened as she saw a man-sized ball of fire arc into the air from the forest to the north of the town. She held her breath as it reached the top of its trajectory, before it winked out.

‘Shadow-weavers,’ she breathed.

Mitsora nodded with a grunt. ‘As I feared. Come, girl. Even the two of us will nudge the scales if this is how the Shadow chooses to do its bidding.’

Berta’s horse whinnied in protest as she spurred it forward for one final push down the gentle slope of the valley. ‘I know, boy. We’re almost there,’ she whispered, channelling a small amount of spirit to see them home.

Shadow-weavers. She could scarcely credit the thought. Of course, she’d known of their supposed existence; the older sisters had seen to that. She’d never knowingly seen one, however. As far as she knew, shadow-weavers were either skulking around hidden among common folk, or they were in Thakan’dar doing the Dark One’s bidding. That they would openly attack now meant they felt they had enough to mount a sustained campaign. Or a short one.

Futility gouged maddening furrows in her mind as she pushed her horse closer to the town. Trollocs, Fades and Draghkar were plenty enough to deal with, but that at least was her comfort zone. Indeed, it was the place where the world made complete sense to her. Doing battle with shadow-weavers though, women just like her, who had given their loyalties to the Dark One; who could channel the One Power, only to nefarious ends, was another thing entirely.

The Trollocs hadn’t yet attacked from the south; the gate was flung open as they approached. _Lya, of course_. Berta could feel the woman’s tempered determination through the bond, feel it squeezing out the futility assailing her. Lya stood in the open gate now, arms crossed, trying to stop the smile spreading across her face.

‘About time!’ she called as Berta and Mitsora reined in. Berta grinned for what felt like the first time in weeks, before she embraced her friend. Questions abounded, and Lya soon explained that the bulk of the forces were at the northern wall, or what was left of it.

The town was a hive of activity. Daily life had been abandoned for battle footing. People ran hither and thither, carrying arrows, buckets of sand, bandages both clean and dirty. A stoic resolve had settled over the townspeople as they did what they could to help in some small manner.

A clearly relieved Gwendlin greeted them at the northern wall. Sisters stood guard, ready to disperse any further weaves which would threaten Palardell. Men stood the wall with makeshift polearms, little more than blades affixed to hoe handles. Grim faces, tired, dirty and bloody, peered out towards the Trollocs which lurked in the tree line to the north. ‘Lya told us you were close by,’ Gwendlin began. ‘We didn’t quite believe it,’ she added with an apologetic look in Lya’s direction. ‘Do you bring aid?’

Mitsora quashed Gwendlin’s hope with the ruthlessness Berta had come to expect. ‘I do not, Gwendlin. I return as Aes Sedai, as does Berta, but I do not bring aid. Our new allies wish to discuss the expediency of fighting Trollocs and friends of the Dark before making a final decision on the matter.

‘That said, I believe there is a boon we can grant. Tell me, Lya, how many Trollocs have you killed this night?’

Lya ducked her head, apparently interested in something on the floor between her feet. ‘More than any other,’ Gwendlin answered. ‘She truly is a marvel with her knives. I confess, I’ve never seen the like.’

Mitsora’s head snapped around to Berta. ‘Can you repeat that weave?’

‘I… believe so, Captain-General, but…’

‘On a man?’

‘I don’t see why not. I…’

‘Master Gammori!’ she bellowed.

The man came trotting up, relief painting his face as he nodded in greeting. ‘Captain-General. Glad you could join us.’

‘Gather twenty of your men and have them convene at the barracks. Those not wedded or betrothed, I should think.’

Berta breathed a sigh of relief as Yaltran frowned his confusion. ‘I’ll explain on the way,’ she told him.

***

It had been Garrol Malvoinin, a lad of just seventeen summers, who had stepped forward to be the first. Berta had been overcome with nerves as Gwendlin watched her weaves with intent. Anmonna Covallin, Viala Flomostin and Pollor Zartow were also present, as Berta sunk her being into that of Garrol and joined the two of them together as she had with Lya. It had come much easier this time, as though there was a commonality among the human soul. Traversed once, the way was familiar.

Garrol had blinked when the weave settled upon him, as though he hadn’t fully expected to survive the ordeal. Berta hadn’t been sure it would work either, that she would be able to hold two people in her head at once.

She had been further surprised when, taking young Garrol off to one side, she had managed to release him from the bond which joined them. She would have to keep a watchful eye on him to ensure there would be no adverse effects.

Now she stood the north wall with her sisters, one and all paired with her battle-brother. Her _gaidin_. The men stood with straight backs and puffed-out chests, calm in the knowledge they were ready for whatever came at the walls of the town. Lya was a knot of eagerness at her side. ‘They will come again, soon. This has been the pattern each time, and we have repelled them each time.’

Berta frowned her concern. ‘That sounds very much like they’re gauging our strength rather than attacking in full force.’

Lya nodded. ‘Explains why we’re not surrounded.’

‘Not that we’re expecting reinforcements,’ Berta ground out.

‘And that explains why Mitsora looks ready to chew rocks.’

Berta glanced at her and arched any eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t she always?’

Her sisters were one and all adorned with the serpent rings on their fingers. Each in turn had sworn themselves Aes Sedai to the Captain-General, under the Light. Once again, the Aes Sedai battled the Shadow. She almost laughed at the scale of the encounter in comparison to the snatches she’d read of the War of Power. Seventeen Aes Sedai. They would have to be enough.

A distant thrumming reverberated from the tree line to the north as the sun climbed close to its peak. It cast no heat upon the forlorn valley, as the deep booming increased its timbre to a tormenting _rat-a-tat_. Berta imagined she could hear the frenzied snarls of the Trollocs as they were whipped into a frothing fever.

She glanced along the line of men. If the channellers on both sides were to cancel one another out, it would be left to the men to deter the Trollocs. Yaltran Gammori walked the line, whispering in an ear here, patting a shoulder there.

A sickening cracking rent the air. Berta’s gaze snapped to the north to see trees being thrust aside like dirt before the plough. The canopy simply ceased to exist as _something_ cut a swathe towards the edge of the tree line. A wailing screech echoed around the valley before a scaled monstrosity barged its way into the open.

A flood of Trollocs followed, keeping a safe distance from the sleek black shape as it lurched towards the town in a loping run on two hind legs, talons raking the earth as its torso tilted forwards. A long, thick tail lashed around, battering any Trolloc that strayed too close. It opened its mouth again and shrieked, flashing a mouth full of dagger-like teeth.

‘That thing is ten man-heights tall,’ Lya breathed. ‘Do something!’

Her panic beat at Berta through the bond, startling her into action. She had been holding _saidar_ for some time, and she formed a net of air designed to wrap itself around the beast. She clucked her frustration as she watched her flows negated by the shadow-weavers hidden in the trees. The beast lumbered forward, golden eyes intent on wanton destruction.

Yaltran bellow a command as the beast fell within arrow range. The arrows bounced from its scaled hide like pine needles against a rock. Men started to take involuntary steps backwards, even as Gwendlin heaved the earth under beast’s feet. It faltered, but onwards it came, jaw open.

Lightning arced from the sky, striking one of the houses behind Berta. Distracted by the fell beast, the Aes Sedai had neglected to split their attention to keep a watch on the shadow-weavers. Mitsora marched up and down the line.

‘Gwendlin! Form a circle of four and take that thing down! Berta! Take another three and stop any flows which come towards the town. Anmonna, Viala, Pollor, you return fire towards the trees with me. The rest of you, business as usual; we have Trollocs to kill.’

Berta gathered three of her sisters to her and spaced them out along the northern wall, each taking a section to defend. It was the first time she’d assumed leadership following the battle where the sisters under her command had all fallen, in one way or another. The memory burned bright at the forefront of her mind. I cannot fail again.

Splitting their forces had an immediate effect. Flows directed towards the tree line were summarily dispersed by the dark-souled women lurking there, but the town was spared for the moment. The ground exploded beneath the onrushing beast in gouts of earth and flame. It shrieked its outrage in response. Now only a hundred paces from the wall, it ducked its head low and charged, closing the distance in an appalling blur of scaled muscle.

Men screamed as they were tossed from the charging beast’s path. Stones which had belonged to the perimeter wall a moment earlier now rained from the sky in a deadly hail. Berta did what she could to deflect those falling rocks, flinging them back at the beast with flows of air. It ignored the impacts as its muzzle full of daggers tore into the defenders, shaking grown men as a hound would a hare. It moved with serpentine grace, flowing from one victim to the next, its tail, thicker than a man was tall, destroying buildings and ribcages with consummate ease.

Trollocs poured into the breach and were met by men who were relieved to find an enemy they could fight. As ever when men met Trollocs, the size advantage of the part-man, part-animal abominations told. Scythe-like swords swung with wild abandon, and Berta thought she could hear glee in distorted grunts and squeals as they found their mark.

Berta turned to Lya. ‘Go. You’re no use here trying to defend me from fireballs.’ Her battle-sister needed no second asking, eager as she was to be among the fighting. She launched herself into the flood of Trollocs, delivering a whirling dance of death as knives flicked and slashed and stabbed. The other Aes Sedai followed suit in releasing their _gaidin_ , and soon the Trollocs were retreating under the furious onslaught of the battle-brothers, invigorated by the strength and speed from the bond.

Berta ducked as that scaled tree-trunk tail lashed in her direction. The tumble of stones and mortar soon followed as another abode was smashed into ruin. She couldn’t understand how the women on the opposite side continued to cut Gwendlin’s flows at such a distance.

The realisation chilled her, and she looked around, frantic. In the confusion she couldn’t discern who the myriad streams of _saidar_ belonged to. It was like trying to pick out a single droplet of rain in a storm. She thought she caught a flash of a familiar face in an upstairs window of a tavern called The Gatehouse. As she stepped toward it, the ground reverberated, throwing her in the air for a moment before the cobbles rose up to meet her, knocking all the breath from her lungs. She raised her head to see a rising conflagration in the south of the town. The _hall_!

She’d sensed no attack, but she could think of no other way the hall would have burst into flame in such a way. ‘Lya! With me!’ she bellowed. She saw Viala racing in the same direction with her _gaidin_ and she nodded. They approached through streets teeming with people running towards them, hefting what meagre possessions they could carry.

The hall – or what remained of it - lay along one side of what passed for a town square. Berta couldn’t enter the square itself due to the ferocity of the heat emanating from the wreckage. Timber glowed with orange fury, spitting livid sparks skyward with an angry crackle.

The dark profile of a man in a long coat stood staring at the flames. He raised his arms and Berta heard Viala empty her stomach as fire gouted from the man’s hands. He poured more liquid flame onto the raging inferno, though it surely wasn’t required. He stopped as if to inspect his work, tilting his head, before repeating the process, tainted incandescence pouring from him. _He’s insane. Light preserve us, he’s insane!_

Berta knew she needed to incapacitate the man before she could think about shielding him. She readied a vicious blow of air to club the man around the head just so. She gasped as she felt the flows deflected just before they reached their target. ‘That was _saidar_!’

‘He has… protection,’ Lya observed.

‘A remorseless gamble. No, wait.’ She blocked out the roar of the blaze and peered closer. There, flows of _saidar_ directed towards the hapless man. ‘He is compelled,’ Berta whispered, even as the man turned towards the group.

The rasp of a sword drawn from its sheath whipped Berta’s head around. Viala’s gaidin, Falwarr, had his sword out. ‘Do not be a fool,’ she snapped, drawing an affronted and protective glare from Viala. ‘You’ll be cinders in a heartbeat,’ she added, trying to soften her words.

She’d never faced _saidin_ before, and so she had no warning as a bar of fire lanced towards them, she managed to deflect it with her own flow of air in the moment before it struck. Her dress smouldered as she walked backwards, hoping the others would follow. The wall of the bath house bore a smooth-sided hole, molten stone pouring onto the cobbles of the street.

‘What do we do?’ Viala shrieked as they continued their retreat.

Berta bit down her irritation at her sister’s near panic. She sought a moment of calm in the tumult, drawing on Lya’s stoicism through the bond. Her lips quirked upwards. ‘What must one do when faced with an unbeatable foe?’

Viala grinned as she recognised the quote from the Captain-General. ‘Find something bigger and nastier to do the job for you,’ she replied, repeating back Mitsora’s coarse doctrine.

‘Can you think of anything?’ Berta almost laughed with glee. She grunted as something sharp battered into her side. It took her a moment to realise it was Lya’s elbow, and another bar of white-hot fire had just passed through the air where she was standing not a heartbeat before. Of course, there was still the task of luring one monstrosity towards the other.

They inched through the deserted streets of Palardell; not for the first time, Berta rued its haphazard layout as they zig-zagged their way towards the north gate. They returned desultory fire to keep the man’s vacant stare fixed upon them. The weave of compulsion burgeoned into something stronger, attempting to return the man to his destruction of the southern part of the town, but the shadow-weavers’ control over the man was wavering. Some remnant in the scattered ruin of his mind wanted to fight. He grinned with menacing delight each time he called upon his fires to attack. Berta alternated with Viala to defend, smothering the heat with air, or deflecting where she could when the onslaught was particularly powerful. She’d never felt strength like it; she imagined it was akin to hiding behind a shield as a Trolloc beat upon it with inhuman aggression.

She dared a glance over her shoulder, flinching as Viala’s shield of water evaporated with a deafening hiss. It quenched the flames, but those shields were getting smaller with each attempt. Berta flicked a flow of air towards the man which he batted away with ease. She could hear the belligerent shrieks of the black scaled monstrosity clearly now. _Blood and ashes, please let this work_.

Rounding the final corner, she saw the buildings in the immediate proximity of the beast had been reduced to rubble. It attacked with abandon, lashing with its tail in one moment, before snapping its jagged maw towards anything that moved. Berta thought she detected a limp in its movement, as though someone had managed to land a telling blow.

She glanced back in the direction of the male channeller, who had stopped to regard the beast. He frowned, as though trying to recall where he’d seen the thing before. He raised a hand towards it and staggered to one knee, squeezing his eyes closed in pained torment. Berta nodded to Viala and the two of them threw all their strength to cut the flows of compulsion shrouding the man. He stood once more, shaking his head to clear the fog of confusion.

The beast tossed its head back and roared as fire seared its flank. Whoever was protecting it had no defence against _saidin_ and the element of surprise. It lowered its head, tail straight out behind like an arrow, before it loped towards the fire-wielding man.

Timing was everything, Berta knew. She was counting on the confusion of the hidden shadow-weavers, as the two things they were trying to protect faced off against one another. Golden eyes bulged as the beast surged towards a single man who stood squarely in its path. Berta’s stomach turned as she realised the man was shaking with unheard laughter; she didn’t dare think too hard on what incongruent thought might be causing such a reaction in him.

Churning flame engulfed the beast and yet it continued on. From her vantage point at the corner of an alley she saw midnight scales blistering and boiling as the beast charged past, screaming its outrage. A ball of scarlet fire struck it squarely in its pointed face and it skidded to the cobbled street, tail and legs scrambling wildly for purchase.

The time was now. As the beast attempted to right itself, Berta threw a weave of air towards the man’s head. A killing blow laced with regret. Sour relief washed over her as the attack found its mark, the previous defence afforded the man temporarily absent. The body spun and lifted into the air, coming to rest with limbs at sickening angles.

She lent her strength to Viala’s efforts as she deflected the shadow-weavers’ attempt to douse the flames engulfing the thrashing beast. It gave one final kick before its massive head crashed to the floor in a spray of cobbles and dirt. She edged out into the street on unsteady legs, waiting for one or more of the shadow-weavers to show themselves.

Berta’s face furrowed in a frown as she took a quick count of the Aes Sedai. By her count there were three fewer than she expected. Gwendlin rushed over to her, eyes darting. She took Berta’s arm and walked her a ways down the road so they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘The Captain-General,’ she began, and Berta’s heart tried to jump out of her chest. ‘A Halfman appeared from nowhere, in the shadows and…’ Gwendlin stopped for breath and shook her head. ‘One moment Mitsora was barking orders, the next a black blade was protruding from her midriff.’

Berta envisioned the sight of Mitsora Caal helpless and impaled on a Myrddraal’s sword. The image wouldn’t hold, as though it was innately wrong. The Captain-General was, to Berta’s mind, indestructible. ‘She lives still?’ Berta asked, forcing her legs to remain beneath her.

Gwendlin nodded. ‘She has been Healed, but she is weak, Berta. I fear she shall play no further part in the battle to come.’

Berta felt the weight of Gwendlin’s gaze. Hope, expectation, and desperation barely held in check. She glanced back at the Aes Sedai, who were pretending not to watch the exchange. ‘Very well. Take those most talented with earth and do what you can to refortify the wall. We need to warn the sisters that we have shadow-weavers inside the walls; I’ll assign a unit to flush them out. Are all the women accounted for?’

Gwendlin’s face dropped. ‘Anmonna took an arrow. There is something else you should know. When she passed, her _gaidin_ went quite insane. He charged over a dozen Trollocs with no thought for his own life. He took most of them with him before more came and put and end to it. We couldn’t reach him in time, and Light, I’m not sure I’d have wanted to get too close, the way he was swinging that blade.’

Berta nodded. While she agreed with the necessity of Mitsora’s order for the Aes Sedai to bond to some of the men, she knew it would take months and years to understand the full extent of the weave and its ramifications.

She glanced to the west, where the blurred disc of a weak sun kissed the mountain peaks. ‘It will be dark soon. Once we have the wall finished, get some rest.’ She left unsaid what had become a mantra within the town. _With dark and light, comes the wax and wane of the Shadow_. ‘We’ll see the full extent of their power tonight.’

***

Men, women and children huddled in the rubble of ruined buildings, shaking with fear as the hint of winged shapes circled Palardell. Those winged beasts loosed cries barbed with dread, seeking to further diminish the resolve of an already battered people.

From the trees, horns blared and drums boomed as Trollocs cavorted in anticipation of their attack. Leavings from the Trollocs’ evening meal were tossed towards the town on flows of air. Bones picked almost clean, which hours earlier had been loved ones, hale and whole. Men had faltered at that, assaulted by the promise of their fate should the night not go in their favour. Yaltran Gammori had done his job, funnelling anguish into tightly coiled hatred.

A deep, undulating hum continued unbroken as the Aiel sang what sounded like a lament, a thing of undeniable mournful beauty. Why they sung, Berta knew not, and held no desire to know. The song touched something inside the men on the wall, who stared across the distance towards the Trollocs and wept in silence, each content to be alone with their thoughts.

Berta fixed her gaze upon the pitch dark line of trees, her brow furrowed as she once again wondered at the hidden strength of the Shadow’s forces. She had to assume the channellers had shown their full hand, else the town would already be in ruins, its inhabitants buried beneath. No, the battle would come down to men fighting Trollocs, Myrddraal and Draghkar. She could only hope they would have enough.

The town was surrounded, she knew; the Trollocs cumbersome passage through the valley to the south side of the town had been impossible to miss. The men and the Aes Sedai were spread painfully thin along a perimeter wall which offered scant protection. Rally points had been assigned and barricades erected in the streets. That was where the true battle would take place.

The wind gusted, a natural wind carrying the promise of snow. The horns from the trees took on a deeper timbre and the ground shook with the beat of feet and hooves marching in time with the drums. The air was filled with a virulent malevolence that only served to fuel Berta’s visceral hatred of those who approached. This was where she was meant to be, what she had chiselled herself into, all hard edges; if it was to be the end, then it would be a fitting end. She shared a look with Lya and knew the woman reflected her thoughts. ‘Let’s be about it, then.’

She released her signal light upwards, brilliant green illuminating the rooftops of Palardell. Trolloc indiscipline was notorious, no matter how many Myrddraal were there to keep them in line. Anything the defenders might do to sow discord among the enemy ranks was worth the attempt. Lightning crashed down from thick, midnight skies, providing a brief, horrifying view of the extent of the army which approached. Fire lanced towards the rows of Trollocs, even as the ground erupted beneath the Shadowspawn’s feet. Most were snuffed out by the women among the Shadow’s forces wielding the One Power, but some found their mark. Berta thought it like throwing a pebble at a landslide, but she pushed back against the despair trying to find a crack in her invisible armour.

Balls of fire roared into existence, arcing towards the town in riposte. Most winked out harmlessly as her sisters flipped from attack to defence, but Berta heard and felt buildings explode in lethal shards of stone. She saw parts of the perimeter wall sag, burying hapless men beneath before the Aes Sedai could bolster it. A hail of arrows rained down, finding gaps in the shields of air. Screams of pain and grief followed.

Berta held her breath as Trollocs charged the wall with a meaty crunch. At such short distance, the fatal flows woven by the Aes Sedai found their targets, and Trollocs died. Berta’s mouth curled upwards as her slicing, spinning flow of air cut through a dozen Trollocs, neatly severing torsos from legs. Then she was on the move, yelling for men to clear, her position compromised. Lightning jutted from the sky, striking where she had just been standing, spraying dirt into the night air.

The fighting was concentrated in knots around the _gaidin_ , who were blunting the Shadow’s attack with deadly efficacy. Bestial bodies piled high against the wall as the blades of the young warriors swung in mesmeric arcs of cold fury.

Lya plucked at her sleeve, pointing southward. ‘Trouble.’

Berta followed Lya’s gaze as a red light span skyward. A breach in the line. Trollocs were inside the walls and behind the defences. ‘Master Gammori!’ she yelled. ‘I go to lend my aid to the southern defences. You _must_ hold.’ After a grim nod from Yaltran, Berta and Lya were soon running through the streets, the dirge of the Aiel reverberating in their ears as they sought to push back the Shadow’s onslaught.

A staggering blow caught her on the side of the head. She had the sensation of spinning through the air before the world went dark.

***

She awoke to the sound of bubbling liquid. Her head throbbed as she tried to open her eyes. When focus finally came, she realised one of her eyes was swollen shut. She was naked and to her horror, a shield was firmly in place, obstructing her connection to saidar. Bruises dotted her arms and legs, providing a painful memory of a beating she couldn’t recall. She was in a stone basement; somewhere in the town, then.

She baulked as her gaze landed upon the centrepiece to the room, bare feet scrabbling in the dirt. A huge cast iron pot sent wisps of steam upwards to condense upon the low ceiling. A woman’s voice spoke from behind her. ‘You know what that is, then.’ A hearty laugh followed. ‘Of course you do; you’ve seen its like before.’ A long moment passed in which Berta began to shake with a rage which threatened to sear her. Flows of air quickly bound her where she sat. She railed against those bonds in futile resistance as the woman continued. ‘Yes, I was there, ten years ago. In the shadows of course, but I know your face. I saw your feeble attempts to channel the One Power.’ A nail ran along her chin from behind. ‘You know, I almost killed you there and then, but the suffering on your face was so perfect, that I just had to let it settle upon you, ravaging you for life.’

The woman stepped around her and turned. Caraidha Skotos’ imperious face smiled down at her. ‘I’m not going to kill you, Berta Trencine. Berta… Sedai.’ She scoffed the name and toyed with the Great Serpent ring on Berta’s hand. ‘Aes Sedai. Well, you’re setting quite the precedent right now, aren’t you?’

Berta was lifted with _saidar_ so she was looking right into the sneering face of the villainous wretch. Her mouth was stuffed with air, breath hissing through her nose as her eyes were forced open. ‘I suspect you think yourself impervious, that whatever I can do cannot possibly plumb the depths of the despair which torments your dreams.’ An appalling grin flashed across her face. ‘Yes, your dreams, you ignorant child.’

She walked up and down in front of Berta, her tone becoming conversational. ‘Do you know which injuries can be healed by the One Power and which can’t? I do. I’ve experimented extensively. I’m going to maim you, Berta, so you can’t be healed. You will be forced to drag yourself out of this valley as its only survivor. Each and every one of your sisters will go into a pot just like the one behind me.’

She drew her belt knife. ‘But first I’m going to hurt you.’ Berta screamed against the gag of air, eyes rolling as the iron bit the flesh of her thigh. Caraidha Skotos looked into her eyes as she pushed the metal inexorably towards bone. ‘Do not pass out, or I’ll take your eyes,’ she crooned.

Crimson rivers trickled from half-a-dozen puncture wounds. Berta’s chin rested on her chest as she heard Caraidha idly wondering aloud where next to pierce her. Mustering what defiance she could find, she looked up to meet those dark eyes, chin thrust forward.

Caraidha Skotos’ eyes went slack as blood blossomed from her neck, a knife thrust delivered with so much force, the blade buried itself to the hilt. Berta slumped with relief as Lya’s face appeared from the gloom. Her battle-sister retrieved her knife and for a moment Berta thought Lya might attack the still corpse crumpled on the dirt floor. Berta opened herself to _saidar_ but it would not come. The last thing she remembered was Lya catching her as she slid off the chair.

She came to again, this time laying on an improvised mattress of bundle clothes. Lya crouched beside her, face a mask of concern as she peered closer. ‘You with us? Here, drink.’ She thrust a cup of water under Berta’s nose.

She drank deeply, coughing as the cool liquid soothed her parched throat. A hundred questions fought to be the first out of her mouth, but Lya quickly cut through the fog. ‘The walls are lost. Only the inner barricade remains, but it’s well fortified and the gaps are few. We’ll hold, for a time.’

Berta tried to sit up, and winced as pain shot through her entire body. Lya helped her up. ‘Viala Healed you, though she was exhausted by the attempt. A few days’ rest and some hearty meals and you’ll be as good as new.’ Lya’s smile was forced; she knew such a remedy wouldn’t be forthcoming, but Berta appreciated the attempt.

She placed her forehead against that of Lya’s. ‘Lya, my battle-sister. What would I do without you? I owe you my life.’

An amused grunt came in reply. ‘After what you did for me, I’m not sure we want to play that game. Can you stand? There is food. I’ve been Healed before and I know how hungry you’ll be when you finally gather your senses.’

She ate and drank and then ate again before she convened at the centre of the town which was atop a small rise, affording a partial view of the surrounding streets. Even in the dark, it was apparent that the outer part of the town had been entirely given over to the Shadow’s forces. The narrow streets funnelled them directly towards the barricades, defended by Aes Sedai and their _gaidin_ , shoulder-to-shoulder with the militiamen. The onslaught had become a siege, sluggish and attritional as the barricades stymied the Shadow’s push.

The Aiel stood in rows, men and women alike, hands conjoined as they sang in a language Berta didn’t understand. Draghkar plunged through the air with dreadful feline grace, crying their outrage as they were repelled by arrows and _saidar_.

‘You’re on your feet. Good,’ came a voice behind her, and Berta nearly sagged.

‘Captain-General,’ she breathed as she spun. The woman looked older and frailer than she had just a day previous, and she leaned heavily on a feral-looking militiaman.

Mitsora’s grey eyes were still bright, even if the face looked pale and haggard. She favoured Berta with a fond smile. ‘Well, done Berta. I believe you may have bought us an extra day.’

Berta opened her mouth to contest the point, that an extra day was merely a stay of execution. Instead, she merely nodded. It was as much as they could ask for in the circumstances.

‘If you’re done mooning over your misfortune, I believe you have a town to defend.’

***

Snow swirled in the pre-dawn, deadening hands which grasped makeshift polearms. Men slumped against barricades and died due to their exhaustion, adding to the frozen heap of bodies which was but a fraction of those marring the street on the other side of the hastily erected defences.

The breaches had become more frequent as sheer weight of numbers began to tell; four in the last hour. The Aes Sedai replenished the energy of men where they could, but between fending off the attacks of the shadow-weavers and the Trollocs, the women had little left to spare. Had it not been for Lya and the bond they now shared, Berta would have been spent many hours before.

 _One more hour_ , she told herself once more. One more hour, and the sun would rise above the eastern hills and flood the valley with its light. At least then they could target the Myrddraal and bring down the Trollocs linked to them. Or maybe the enemy would pause to draw breath. A small hope, but one she clung to.

There were just nine sisters left, now. The only solace Berta was able to take was that the shadow-weavers had sustained a similar loss. Fatigue gnawed at both sides, the attacks receding in both frequency and potency. A ball of writhing flame formed in the air and once again she smothered it with air, before lashing out at the Trollocs with a quick riposte. This time, her attack broke through the Shadow’s defences, slicing through the enemy ranks with a satisfying series of pained howls.

Once again the red light blossomed into the night to the west, its edges blurred by the gusting snow. Berta groaned as she summoned the fortitude to provide relief. The groan died in her throat as a twin to the red light went up to the south. ‘Light! Two at once?’ She loosed a frustrated scream as she strode toward the centre of the town. She had to choose, and fast. ‘We go to the west,’ she spat at Lya, who was undeserving of such ire. ‘Let’s be quick about it.’

They broke into a staggering run, slipping through the mush of half-melted snow. Broken furniture littered the streets, the remnants of what couldn’t be used for the barricades. People flooded towards her and Lya as they ran from the terror of Trollocs and Myrddraal among their homes, from indiscriminate slaughter, or worse, being taken to fuel the Shadow’s continued machinations in the Blight.

They ran towards the fighting, where militiamen died under the punishing blows of a stronger, faster, better-equipped enemy. The barricade lay in ruins, then men now fighting in an ever-contracting ring around Viala, who lashed out indiscriminately with saidar. Lightning rent the air, frying Trollocs where they stood, but the dark tide was too vast. Berta plunged into the maw of the onrushing horror, and blood sprayed in a rising mist. She clung to _saidar_ as it threatened to abandon her. ‘Lya, stay close. I… falter.’

The Trollocs pressed on, getting closer now as they were driven forward by some unseen force, their fervour palpable with the promise of Aes Sedai blood. Berta trembled with the exertion of forcing them away, deflecting rather than destroying, now. Lya spun in a fatal swirl of metal, her twin blades finding gaps in the Trollocs’ armour even as she danced away from their clumsy swings.

There was no fear. This is what she had spent years honing herself into; a tool to defy the Shadow, a mere vessel to channel the Light-blessed destructive power which had been gifted unto her. All vessels failed, worn down by use, and she was no different.

She looked at Lya and drew deep on _saidar_. Her battle-sister growled a warning. ‘Don’t you dare. Do you hear me? No, not yet. We still have time. If you… I’ll kill you myself!’

Berta smiled. She would die here, fighting to the last, Lya beside her. She drew deeper on sweet _saidar_ and the air around her began to swirl. It grew to a devastating vortex of snow and blood, a pink funnel which began to suck in Trollocs and what few men remained. She stood at the centre of the gathering storm and fell to her knees. Lya was screaming at her, but it sounded distant, as the roar of the whirlwind battered her ears. Roofs were torn off nearby buildings as she fed more and more of her being into her creation. The brink was nigh; she need only step across it to deliver her final blow.

She yelled as something pierced her shoulder, and _saidar_ squirmed from her grasp. She opened her eyes to find one of Lya’s blades jutting from her. ‘You stabbed me!’ she roared, and swung a fist which connected flush with Lya’s chin.

‘Only way you were going to listen,’ her friend replied, spitting blood. ‘You killed them all.’

Berta looked up and down a street now devoid of life. Broken, shattered bodies lay heaped among the rubble of destroyed buildings. It was impossible to say which had been destroyed by the chaos she had just delivered, and which had found a more honourable end. ‘I killed them all,’ she whispered.

‘More will come when they believe it safe,’ Lya offered, nudging Berta into motion back up the hill towards the centre of town. They limped towards Mitsora’s position on barely-working legs.

‘We made it,’ Berta whispered, as the sky in the east paled to a dull grey. ‘One more hour.’

Another red light went into the sky in the north, and Berta’s spirit almost broke then.

A horn sounded to the south, far to the south. Could there really be more Trollocs? Berta was sure the Blight had been emptied to surround Palardell.

A red light lanced into the air at the southern tip of the valley. Another followed it, and another. Perhaps fifty red lights dotted the dawn sky, even as the earth began to shake.

Berta forced her legs into motion, spit flying from her mouth as she bit down on her pain. Everyone atop the hill faced south. The Aiel’s song grew in pitch and volume, a hundred harmonies impossibly interwoven. In the distance, horses thundered down the southern slope of the valley, crashing into the Trollocs’ rear. Fire and lightning burned Trollocs to ash in appalling numbers.

Berta had never seen so many horses in one place. There were hundreds of riders already, and still more poured into the valley. She gaped at the slaughter so easily delivered as Mitsora appeared at her side. ‘A day purchased and a promise delivered.’ Berta allowed herself a small smile. _I am Aes Sedai_.

The Aes Sedai in the vanguard cut a deathly path through the Trollocs, who baulked and sought to run from the devastation of _saidar_. The panic spread through the enemy ranks, and a full retreat north was soon in flow. The Aes Sedai pressed their advantage; no quarter would be given in the slaughter of Shadowspawn. The earth beneath their feet heaved, fouling their attempts at escape, allowing the harrying horsemen to deliver a swift end.

***

The lead contingent of the relief force walked their horses towards the summit of the gentle slope at the centre of Palardell. Sure enough, Mabriam en Shereed appeared at the head of the column. ‘Well met, Captain-General. It looks like you’ve had quite a night. Would that I arrived sooner.’ She gestured and Aes Sedai began moving among the survivors, offering Healing. Berta gasped as her exhaustion was washed away, grateful to stand on steady legs for the first time in what felt like days.

Mitsora offered a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Your arrival is timely, Mabriam Sedai. We thank you for your aid.’

Mabriam’s eyes widened and she dismounted. She offered the Captain-General a deep bow. ‘You humble me, Mitsora Sedai. It is I who should be thanking you.’ At Mitsora’s searching look, she continued. ‘As I told Berta, I am of the north. I am also Aes Sedai, like you. Elisane Tishar understands the weight of these things.’

Mitsora glanced past Mabriam. ‘Elder Jotun. You are among the last of those I expected to see here.’ Berta hadn’t noticed the giant Ogier standing there. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Yes, I am most aggrieved by such haste, but Mabriam Sedai here implored me to observe this… new world for myself. I admit I hadn’t understood how quickly the Shadow had gathered its forces. Things move so much faster outside the _stedding_. Mitsora Caal, we will build your dwellings. I’ve assigned Modni son of Thyyr son of Oodun to oversee matters. He is a skilled stonemason, and keen to observe the _ta’veren_ I believe we have in our midst.’

Sparing a glance for an abashed Mabriam, Mitsora bowed. ‘We offer our profound thanks, Elder Jotun.’

Berta left Mitsora to deal with the formalities. She walked the streets with Lya in companionable silence. ‘What will happen now?’ Lya asked.

‘I don’t know, Lya. We’re Aes Sedai now, but we’re fewer than half of what we were at the start of the winter.’

‘The Trollocs will be back. The shadow-weavers will be back. The fight will never stop.’

‘I suspect you’re right.’

‘Those Ogier, they’re going to build us a… city?’ Berta smiled as Lya tried the word on her tongue. It was true, none of them really had any notion of what a city was. They belonged to tales of the previous Age, frozen in time in what few books survived.

‘It appears so.’

‘Then we’ll finally have a home.’

‘We might.’ Berta looked north, towards the tree-lined slope, letting her mind wander beyond, to the sickened land where evil lurked still. The Blight, her true home, which she yearned to turn into a killing ground, a place of terror for anyone and anything associated with the Shadow.

Her stomach growled and Lya put an arm around her. ‘You should have seen your face when I stabbed you. And who knew you could punch like that?’


	11. A New Spring

CHAPTER 11 - A NEW SPRING

 

Berta strolled the grounds of the grove the Ogier had insisted upon. It was at the very heart of the new city, Anolle’sanna. _Shadowbane_ , it meant in the Ogier tongue, apparently. Modni had informed her that the grove helped keep the effects of the Longing at bay, allowing the Ogier to remain outside longer than they otherwise would. A waygate would be grown at the centre of the grove, allowing the Ogier to travel freely back to the _stedding_.

The spring sun warmed her face as she let the scents of wildflowers wash over her, reminding her of her time in the _stedding_.

The Aiel moved among the flora, tending to the trees and plants under the direction of the Ogier. Song rang out in places, where the youngest trees were. She smiled as Gragga Halmdon, the tall Aiel clan chief, approached her. ‘Well met, Berta Trencine.’

‘And to you, clan chief. Your work is a true wonder.’

‘We are pleased to work among Ogier once again, it is true.’

‘Again?’

‘We have songs which tell of a time when we Sang in unison with the Ogier, to grow things of profound beauty. Only in the place where the Green Man resides can such beauty be found in this world, now.’

She doubted the presence of this Green Man. No-one had ever seen him, at least. But she didn’t want to be rude to the man before her who believed so deeply. ‘I’m pleased you have found a worthy place for your people, clan chief.’

‘I do not believe we have found our true calling, Berta Trencine.’

‘Oh no?’

‘This is a worthy cause, and we are proud to lend our Voice to the Growing. But the sickness to the north will not abate, not ever. I do not believe our people will find their place behind your walls, so close to your violence.’

‘This saddens me, Gragga Halmdon. But know this. The Aes Sedai will always extend their protection to the Aiel, unwanted or no. And our walls have gates which will always be open to you and yours.’

The man merely nodded, an acceptance of the distance between them which would likely never close. She returned his nod, and ascended the white stone steps which led towards the new hall; a four storey stone building which would house up to a hundred sisters. It was impossible for Berta to imagine the _ajah_ swelling its ranks to those numbers, but Mitsora had insisted they had to think on different scale to before, that the city would be built to last a thousand years.

The scale of the city was stupefying. The outer walls, thicker than a man was tall, almost touched edges of the valley. Berta surmised the city would take years to complete.

Lya waited for her at the top of the steps. She hooked her arm inside Berta’s and escorted her into the hall. ‘Come. Master Gammori is within. Let’s watch him squirm before the midday bell sounds.’

Berta allowed herself to be led, even if she didn’t quite share Lya’s enthusiasm for Yaltran’s torment.

Lya let out a disappointed groan as they saw Yaltran Gammori had already escaped the attentions of Mabriam en Shereed. Men and women bustled about the reception hall. Carpenters, upholsterers, cooks, maids, all went about their business, making sure everything was just so for the Aes Sedai. The relationship with the survivors of Palardell had grown into one of trust. Aes Sedai had given their lives to protect the townsfolk, and that appeared to have settled matters with a reassuring finality. Of course, they didn’t know how close Berta Trencine had been to laying the whole town to ruin.

‘Master Gammori, you look assailed,’ Berta began, content to indulge in some gentle baiting of the man.

He shook his head and glanced back at Mabriam and Mitsora, who now had their heads together. ‘The woman is as slippery as a newt covered in grease. I long for the days of butting heads with your Captain-General. At least she spoke plainly. I come in here to talk about the placement of the barracks and before I know it I’m being cajoled into this hay-brained idea of becoming a king. A king!’

Lya sucked her teeth, appearing far too sympathetic to the man’s complaints. ‘Well, a nation needs a king.’

Berta sighed, but played her part. ‘And if not you, then who?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Now you sound like _her_. I swear by the Light that you’re all in league.’ He glanced over at Mabriam, who met his eyes and offered a small smile. That softened the man’s frown.

Lya took her cue. ‘And a king needs a queen.’

He returned a wry smile. ‘I think I’d better take my leave before I find myself with a crown upon my head and a ring upon my finger. There is something I’ve been thinking on though, if you’ll allow me to indulge in your game for a moment.’ He looked at Berta. ‘A nation needs a name, yes?’

Berta blinked. ‘Well, yes.’

Yaltran took a patient breath, his eyes shining. ‘I’m standing here because of you, Berta. The honour is yours.’

_There could be only one_. Her insides roiled as the thought came unbidden to her. ‘Aramaelle,’ she whispered.

Yaltran nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. From where does it come, may I ask?’

Berta closed her eyes and looked into herself, into her soul. She delved deeper and deeper, daring to approach the blackness which haunted her dreams. She imagined she could see it there, in the pit of her being, buried for all time, a sinister darkness coiled around her very self. She extended her mind and let out an unsteady breath as she plucked at it. Pain bubbled up inside her, and she heard Lya gasp as the pain passed through the bond.

She opened herself to that unbearable pain, allowed herself to embrace it. It was a part of her. Lya dropped to her knees, heaving sobs spilling from her. ‘Oh, Berta. No.’

It was going to be all right. She was home at last. She put a hand on her battle-sister’s shoulder and met the gaze of a man who would be king.

‘I had a daughter.’

HERE ENDS THE BATTLE AJAH


End file.
